


Wildest Dreams (never dreamed of this)

by purpledaisy



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mind Reading, Switching, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-28 00:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5070154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpledaisy/pseuds/purpledaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn had told himself to give up on the soulmate search—give up on the silly fairy tale made for kids who believe in magic.<br/>Still, there is a part of him holding out for that one person who makes his world go silent--a secret, a mystery only he can solve. The older Zayn gets, the more he believes, has to believe, that there is someone out there for him--someone who he will ask to know their favorite movie and, for once, have to wait for the answer.<br/>-<br/>Mind-reading AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wildest Dreams (never dreamed of this)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisonegoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisonegoes/gifts).



> I was 30k into your romantic comedy prompt before there was a change of directions and this happened instead. So, here's some mind reading for you. I hope you enjoy it and it at least scratches the surface of what you were looking for. :)
> 
> Title: "This Love" Taylor Swift

Zayn studies himself in the mirror as he finishes buttoning his shirt, his rings barely reflecting the dull lamp light of his room, basking in the utter silence of his flat. He adjusts the collar of the shirt when he finishes, runs his hands down over the embroidered skulls stitched in white against the black fabric.

When he ordered the shirt online he had been worried about looking perpetually dressed for Halloween but Louis was quick to assure him he wouldn’t. Zayn believed him. Not only because Lou has been his best friend since they were arguing over markers in Primary school but, more, because he can tell, beyond a shadow of a doubt, when someone is lying to him—whether he wants to or not. Before he leaves his room he adjusts his black rimmed glasses so they sit right on his face and grabs his backpack from where it sits on his desk to carry it towards the kitchen.

Zayn clicks his rings against the granite countertop while he waits for the kettle to boil. He listens closely to the sounds of metal against granite, to the way the steam from the spout gets steadily louder the hotter the water gets inside. Their first year of university, when they lived together, Louis would argue the steam didn’t actually have a sound. When Zayn shot him a look, the one that reminded him he did not, in fact, know everything, he fell quiet.

He holds his travel mug with both hands once he’s locked the door behind himself and starts down the walkway leading to the street. He moved into his own place for the last year of university, saying he just wanted it to be quiet for once—Louis told him he understood especially when Zayn has him for a best friend. The flat is a sanctuary of sorts for Zayn, a place he rarely invites anyone over for more than an hour at a time. There’s just something to be said about sitting on the worn in couch and listening to the rain on the windowpane, or his pencil tracing over a piece of paper, to listen to absolutely nothing—something to be said that no one else can quite understand.

The street is empty in both directions when he gets to sidewalk and he feels a balloon of pressure release somewhere behind his ribs. Completely alone as he walks, he can listen to the way the wind curls around the cars when they pass by and the squeaky hinges of an unlatched screen door as it slaps against a house. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips—there's nothing to care about, to worry about, besides not tripping over his combat boots.

After three blocks of smirking about the way his boots sound as they scuff against the cement, Zayn turns the corner to find a woman walking right towards him and his heart skitters in his chest. He holds his breath with each step they take closer to each other--waiting, wondering, if today might be different. Senseless wondering, he already knows.

_Look at this punk, who does he think he is? Dressed in skulls with his hair shaved on the sides like that, is that a piercing on his nose? Probably heading to beg on a corner or—_

Zayn swallows and manages a smile at the woman passing, maybe it’s not her fault he’s just intruded on the things she never meant for him to know.

“Morning, ma’am,” he offers. Her only response is a nod.

_At least he has a nice face. Probably covered head to toe in tattoos though, go figure. Need to call Janine—_

He glances back to see her head up the walkway of a bright blue house further behind him and his smile falters the same as her thoughts fade from his mind. His heart goes back to the same dull pace it does each morning this happens--after he realizes it is no different than every other day of his life--he’s been doing it for twenty-two years already.

There’s no one else to pass by on his walk through the side streets but the spell is already broken. He no longer cares about the sound the burnt orange leaves make when they fall to the ground, or the way his boots crunch them as he walks. Now is one of the times he wishes he couldn’t hear anything at all.

As he gets closer to the busy campus streets he unwinds his headphones from his pocket and tucks them in his ears, playing an old Pink Floyd album as loud as he can manage. He keeps his eyes trained on the ground, the way he always does when he walks. This way, no one can catch his eye to ask for directions or tell him they like his shirt, or anything else for that matter. The times he forgets his headphones are by far the worst. The sounds can get so loud they make his hands shake—not just from the cars whizzing by and people talking and shouting but the things they leave left unsaid--those are always the loudest.

*

Zayn was three when his mum asked him if he could hear voices in his head. He knows now it could have been the plot line of a horror movie but at the time he had only shrugged, readjusted his glasses, and turned his coloring book to the next page.

“Zayn, jaan, will you look at me please?” His mum had put her hand over the coloring book so he reluctantly looked up at her. “Watch my lips okay?”

Zayn nodded watched her lips as hard as he could, careful not to blink.

 _I love you._ It was his mum’s voice, same as always, but her lips didn’t move an inch.

She let out a shaky breath, “Could you hear that, darling?” That time he saw her lips move when he heard her.

He nodded again, slowly, “I love you too, mum.”

*

Zayn takes a seat in the front of the lecture hall, right next to Abbie--a girl with blue hair like candy floss who always sits in the first row. Zayn met her in his first year when he forced himself to sit in the front row and found her right next to him. Her hair had been a washed out pink then.

“Morning,” she says with a sweet smile.

He gives a quick nod, careful to focus only on the words coming out of her mouth.  “You okay?”

“Doing well.” She adjusts her notebook on the desk, “You?”

Zayn half smiles, “Yeah. Just tired today.” He takes his own notebook from his bag and leans forward to search in his bag as he feels around for a spare pen.

_You look exhausted, babe. It makes me worry._

He sits up so quickly his desk shakes and he steadies it with two hands, mouth already poised around, “What?” when he stops completely. Abbie isn’t even looking at him anymore, already focused on writing something on the page in front of her. As inauspiciously as he can manage, he leans back over to his bag on the floor and wrestles out his pen, hopes no one saw the way he jumped because of nothing at all.

*

There's no trace on Zayn's ability to read minds--nothing more than the fact his mum and all of her sisters can do it. He’s the only one of his three sisters, of their eighteen cousins, who can do it.

It's not like he knows what it would be like to not hear the thoughts that aren't his. Once he realized what it was, once his mom explained it to him, he couldn't remember a time he hadn't heard voices coming from closed lips. Instead, it took him longer to learn to differentiate what is being said out loud as opposed to inside someone's minds, to not react to the things he isn’t supposed to hear even when it sounds as if the words have been whispered in his ear.

What took the longest for him to understand, what he still struggles with, is the disparity between the two—the things people say out loud versus the ones they try to keep secret. When he was five, a kid told him he liked his shirt when he really meant that second hand clothes are for losers. He was nine when other kids looked at the lunch his mom packed him and didn’t say a thing with their mouths but he still heard them anyway. _Why can’t he eat a sandwich on white bread like the rest of us?_   When he was sixteen, being both Muslim and gay seemed like the biggest crime according to nearly everyone—though only the true assholes would speak their thoughts out loud to ensure he had heard them.

No one knows what he can do besides his family and Louis who all but fits the family title anyway. It’s not something he can share over a pint and then expect things to go back to normal. Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could explain the ins and outs of it all coherently—not when he’s still figuring it out for himself.

In a crowded room, out on the street, he doesn’t hear everyone all at once. Sounds comes through in a low buzz, a ringing in the very back of his head like a radio not quite tuned into a station. Voices will filter through, some if they’re thinking directly of him, others if he makes eye contact even on accident. He still doesn’t know the rhyme or reason for why, when he looks at two people at the same time, only one of their thoughts comes through while the other buzzes. The things is, even if someone starts with a buzz they will filter through eventually. His mom told him it’s a gift--it’s still hard for him to use the word. Not when he hears passing thoughts of strangers on the street, of lovers, of people he once assumed to be his friends.

Sometimes it’s funny to hear a shopping list or someone singing a song or ranting about what their co-worker did. The fun stops when he can’t hear anything above the relentless buzzing or when he hears his own insecurities repeated back to him. When lies slip between people’s lips and he can still hear the truth, when he hears the secrets he wishes he never knew.

_*_

As more people begin to file into the lecture hall, Zayn focuses on rewriting his notes from the last lecture in order to shut out the two hundred sets of thoughts finding seats behind him. Abbie sits in the front because she likes to be called on for discussions; Zayn sits in the front so he can’t let his mind wander, unintentionally listen in on someone just by glancing at them.

“You’re such a nerd, Zayno,” Niall says as he sits down next to him and Zayn jumps. Usually he can hear someone’s thoughts before they get close but Niall must be too tired to say much this morning. They've been friends since their first year when Niall showed up as his roommate who couldn't stop smiling and never judged him out loud or in silence.

“It’s actually a really good study tool,” Abbie says quietly and Zayn throws her a grateful look.

Niall leans forward with a smirk, “How you doin’, Abs?” Zayn has to bite into his lip to keep from laughing at the way Niall's eyebrows pull together in a weak attempt at a smolder.

“Shove it, Niall.” She pointedly turns to look the other way. If Zayn wanted to be a helpful pal, he would tell Niall that she is definitely not interested in him but he decides to let him figure that one out on his own.

“You could be like a copy machine,” Niall says, suddenly inspired, leaning closer to him. “And then you could make me a copy of your notes while I’m asleep in me bed.” Zayn raises his eyebrows and Niall sits back in his seat, dejected. “Thought it was worth a shot,” he mumbles.

The professor comes in a few minutes later adjusting his glasses and making a grocery list. The last part isn’t out loud, Zayn realizes before he mentions something to Niall.

“Good morning, young learners of the world,” Professor McGee says with a smile before launching into his lecture.

 _Call me a learner one more fucking time_.

Zayn grins at Niall’s snark but when Niall looks at Zayn with a hesitant and confused smile, he realizes that wasn’t meant for him either. He shakes his head and goes back to taking notes.

*

It’s never been particularly hard for Zayn to make friends as much as it has been for him to keep them. Even as a kid he used to hear when the other boys thought he was weird or boring or if his voice sounded funny. Ruthless thoughts that, he eventually realized, never got better. He tells himself it's easier to just stop caring what people think of him--more simply said than done, he thinks.

In Year Three, though, he met Louis Tomlinson--Louis who stormed right into his life like he’d always belonged with his loud voice and shiny blue eyes. He introduced himself to Zayn at lunch by way of telling him he had dirt on his face but he really liked his glasses. Zayn’s heart caught in his throat right then because, staring at that boy with messy brown hair and a red striped shirt, Zayn thought he couldn’t hear inside Louis' head. It took only mere moments more for him to understand the confusion—Louis already said absolutely everything on his mind, good or bad leaving nothing else to hear. His lack of a verbal filter and Zayn's uncontrollable destruction of everyone elses' filters, meant they were a friendless match made perfect. Almost three years later, Zayn told Louis about what he could do—as much as possible without making him run out of his bedroom screaming—and Louis just grinned at him, big and wide. “That’s sick, mate.”

By the time they were teenagers, Louis and Zayn were partners in crime with Louis as the mastermind and Zayn as the talent. Instead of a lemonade stand like the other kids, Louis and Zayn opened a fortune telling stand complete with one of Louis’ mom’s snow globes as a looking glass. When a rather angry Trisha Malik shut that down, they had to move on to more low-key projects that didn't involve taking lunch money from unsuspecting students. Instead they settled for making fun of their sisters’ crushes on the boys at school or walking past people and repeating their thoughts out loud incredulously. Zayn thought Louis might have burst a blood vessel from laughing on the days they would camp out in the grocery store and help people find the things on their list without being solicited to. When a woman walked past them silently looking for condoms and Zayn pointed her in the right direction, with a whispered, “Aisle three, love,” Louis swore up and down he almost pissed his pants.

_*_

After his morning lecture, Zayn walks towards the animal shelter a few streets over with his headphones tucked tightly into place. He’s learned to love the peace of loud music and the universal symbol for _don’t talk to me_ when he has the white cords dangling from his ears.

Zayn has been working at the shelter for almost five years, ever since he and Louis were stuck doing community service one weekend there and decided to keep coming back after their time was up. They have sixteen dogs at the moment, plus a few kittens and a bearded dragon no one seems to want. Some animals are dropped off in daylight--others tied to the tree out back with a note attached to their collar or, almost worse, nothing at all. Louis and Zayn spent an entire summer building a shelter out back for the animals abandoned in the middle of the night—just last week they had found a box of kittens in there with only three still alive in the morning light.

Zayn’s job isn’t glamorous by any means—he changes into a ratty sweatshirt and old sneakers each day—but the silence around the animals, the silence he doesn’t have to work for, is a welcome reprieve. He goes through each cage, cleaning and refilling food and water dishes, taking breaks just to sit in the floor and let the puppies kiss him and the older dogs lay in his lap. He sits with the three abandoned kittens, Momo, Ike and Otis, using the special bottles they ordered to feed them warm milk, holding them in his lap as he does. He makes small talk with them and smiles when they mewl back softly, like they might know exactly what he’s saying.

As per usual that afternoon, he hears Louis before he sees him when he silently yells _Zayn_ over and over the minute he walks in the front of the shelter. Even in the silence it’s loud enough for Zayn.

“You know I hate when you do that,” Zayn says through his laugh as Louis appears through the double doors in the back with his brown hair sticking up in every direction and his blue eyes all but sparkling with mirth.

“I have one friend in the entire world who can do cool tricks,” Louis says climbing into the kitten enclosure and sitting down, “And I like to use and abuse that privilege.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, “I’m not a dog and it’s not a trick, as we’ve been over countless times.”

“Eh, I know,” Louis says picking up one of the kittens and setting him in his lap. When they were younger Louis would to refuse to speak out loud to Zayn, settling for only having silent conversations because he thought it was easier than using his voice. Eventually, Zayn stopped responding to his thoughts alone, to Louis’ extreme disappointment.

“They’re eating a lot,” Zayn says as he hands Louis the last baby bottle from behind him. “They should be ready to find homes in a couple months.”

Louis purses his mouth, “I always hate that part.”

Zayn bites his lip and runs his thumb over the little orange one’s head. “I know,” he says quietly. “Wish we could have them all.”

He going to do it one day, he already knows. He'll have a house full of animals and maybe some kids thrown in there somewhere. Niall calls Zayn an angel when he talks about his future pets--mostly because Zayn has his heart set on adoption, rescuing the animals no one else seems to want.

“So, I was thinking,” Louis says once they’re out of the kitten enclosure and standing in the big yard with all of the dogs, throwing their toys for them.

“Oh, here we go.” He rolls his eyes because he knows exactly what Louis is about to say.

“You haven’t been out all term, Zed.” Louis’ voice is unusually stern and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“And your point?” He squats down as one of the pitbull girls waddles over to him—two tennis balls held in her mouth at once.

“You already know my point,” Louis says, voice softer.

Zayn glances away, “It’s not real, Lou. It’s a story my mum made up for her and my dad, not me.”

“That’s not what you used to say.” Louis isn’t looking at him so Zayn’s not sure if he’s said it out loud but he knows he was supposed to hear it.

*

“And when I looked at him, everything was silent,” his mum had whispered. Zayn cooed along with the three girls at that point, the moment in the story where his mum first met his dad.

“So you can’t read his mind?” Doniya asked right away.

“Not a peep,” Trisha had said with wide eyes and a secret smile. “It’s the same for your aunties and uncles.”

“Soul mates,” Waliyha whispered in awe even though she can’t hear a single thought besides her own.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” his mum put her hands up in front of her, “But it sure feels like it.” Zayn didn’t admit to believing it at the time but he knows it’s the reason his heart back flipped the day he thought he couldn’t read Louis’ mind, the day he thought things had changed.

When he was a teenager, though, he realized how hard—impossible—it would be to find his actual soul mate. Everywhere he looked he heard everything and everyone. He dated three girls while he was fifteen, all in a row, realizing quickly how difficult it was to develop a relationship when he was trying to please someone based on their thoughts or listening to them silently complain about him even as they held hands to go get ice cream.

He was sixteen the first time he noticed the way Michael Statten’s hair smelled like oranges and his lips were a shade of pink he wanted to kiss. He cheated the system completely and listened to Michael’s thoughts until he knew he was interested in boys before he asked him out right before Literature class on a Tuesday. They made out in the back of Michael’s beat up Volvo after seeing a film and Zayn considered himself a changed man. Michael drove him home with a muted commentary on how Zayn’s tongue was too wide and he had, evidently, elbowed him in the dick trying to climb out of his lap but, for the first time, nothing could take the smile from Zayn’s face.

“I like boys,” Zayn told Doniya, throwing open the door to her bedroom and proclaiming it out loud.

“Congratulations?” She looked up from her magazine as he crossed the room to sit on the floor in front of her bed. “Is this because you thought your last girlfriend talked too much?”

“No,” he hummed, unsure how to articulate what he just knew. “It just feels right, you know?”

“Of course, I know. I like boys too, you idiot.” She winked at him as he got up off the floor to go back to his room. “Don’t go stealing all the good ones,” she called and he brushed her off with a giggle that escaped from his smirk.

A month later, he didn’t bother telling her that he was definitely sure about the boy thing when Michael Statten touched his dick with calloused hands and he swore he saw stars.

As the years have passed and boyfriends have turned into exes, Zayn has started to lose trust in the idea of true love, of finding happiness with someone else. Not when he knows right away that he is being lied to, when he knows where eyes wander or when he is being showered in compliments to make up for something else. It’s become an unrelenting, tireless war against his own mind as he comes across guys he can hear who hurt him, some without even trying. And with each one he kisses, and wills to be his One, his heart sinks a little bit more with the disappointment of reality.

He’s tried to make it stop, shut his mind down from intruding, but even turning a blind eye ends up all wrong. His last official boyfriend had been a couple of years ago, Lennon. Zayn took him home from uni to meet his parents and they seemed to like him well enough. At least until they were all sitting at dinner and Lennon silently recited the love letter he was planning to write his long-distance girlfriend. Zayn had an idea about her but he had spent months pretending not to hear the parts of Lennon's mind that made him suspicious, hoping his selective hearing could make it true. More embarrassing than Zayn having to hear it that night was knowing that his mum could too, her grip getting tighter and tighter on her fork.

“Your person is out there, darling,” his mum had told him that night while his dad drove Lennon to the bus station.

Zayn’s jaw was wobbly but he was too old to cry to his mum about his failed choice in men. “Do you think it’s supposed to be a girl instead?”

“No.” She said it so quickly he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “It’s whoever you want it to be,” she whispered with one hand pushing back his hair like she did when he was eight and had a nightmare. “Whoever you want.”

When he called it off with Lennon for good, he told himself he would give up on the soul mate search—give up on the silly fairy tale made for kids who believe in magic. Still, there is a part of him that wants to hold out for the one person who makes his world go silent, who is a secret, a mystery only he can solve. He won’t say it out loud, won’t degrade the people he’s been with, but he can’t help but think they’re filling in—a temporary substitute for the person he’s still looking for. The older Zayn gets, the more he believes, has to believe, that there is someone out there for him--someone who he will ask to know their favorite movie and, for once, have to wait for the answer.

*

It hadn’t taken Louis much longer than that afternoon at the shelter to convince Zayn to come out to the pub later. He has a valid point about Zayn not going out all term but Zayn has had good reason, as of late. He was trying to apply to graduate schools and he had picked up extra hours at the shelter when one of the other volunteers stopped coming to her shift. If he was honest, he hadn’t been out lately because it was discouraging. It's discouraging to look so desperately for something real and come up empty each and every time. Nonetheless, Zayn drops his bag off at his flat and takes a shower to no longer smell like a litter box before pulling on a new maroon shirt and ditching his glasses for his contact lenses.

Louis and Niall are already at the pub when he gets there, nestled in a booth and waving him down as soon as he comes through the front door. O’Malley’s is one of the larger pubs near campus, which means Zayn isn’t likely to hear anyone’s individual thoughts unless he truly focuses or someone actually screams at him. It’s nice because he won’t have to hear the unwanted comments but it means the constant buzz will be louder, will probably give him the equivalent of a migraine by the time the night is out.

“Lads,” Zayn says with a grin as he slides in the booth next to Niall.

Niall automatically slings an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, “So glad you’re here, Zee. Been ages!”

“I saw you this morning in lecture,” Zayn laughs and squirms out from under his arm.

“Been ages since I’ve seen you drunk off your arse, mate,” Niall amends reaching for the pitcher in the middle. Louis slides Zayn a beer with a wink and Zayn smirks at him, no words needed.

He hears Liam before he approaches, but he waits for the hand on his shoulder before he turns to greet him. Zayn has to dodge when Liam tries to ruffle his hair before he does some intricate handshake with Niall and slides in the booth next to a smiling Louis. Zayn is still in awe over the way Louis softens around Liam, lets him start right in on a story about one of his professors. A story he would have barely listened to if Zayn was the one telling it. Liam and Louis met a little over a year ago and Zayn knew it was serious when Louis was begging him to find out if Liam liked him as just a friend or if there was more. Zayn refused to do it, though. He swore he wouldn’t deny Louis of the chance to find out the little secrets and nuances about Liam for himself—the chance Zayn only wishes for.

Zayn and Niall abandon the two lovebirds in the booth to go up to the bar, awhile later, throwing shots back as Niall discusses his latest Tinder finds.

“Honestly, you should do it, Zayno,” Niall yells. “It’s very conversation based, you would like it.”

Zayn doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean but he nods anyway. He’s thought about dating apps, how easy it would be to get to know someone online before he saw them in person. He often wonders if the disappointment of reading their thoughts after they met face to face would be worse—to know what could have been.

“Okay, Zayn, don’t panic,” Niall says suddenly. “But there’s a guy looking at you. Now, I don’t swing that way often but he’s fit. Very fit.”

Zayn closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Usually he can hear a guy’s thoughts before he sees him but he’s not picking up anything in particular at the moment—just a dull buzz. “Where is he?” Zayn asks, taking a sip of the vodka press he had ordered.

“Right behind you,” Niall says out of the corner of his lips and Zayn laughs at his complete lack of subtlety.

He turns around to come face to face with a guy with a shock of bright red hair, freckles smattered across his nose. Zayn realizes, with no uncertainty, the reason he couldn’t hear the guy’s thoughts would be the fact he is staring straight through Zayn and right at Niall. Zayn bites his lip and turns promptly back around to face Niall again.

He drags his finger across his throat. “You not me, mate,” he mouths and Niall’s eyes go wide.

“Is it bad if I’m flattered?” Niall asks, his cheeks turning pink.

“Of course not,” Zayn says. “Trade places with me and you can talk, yeah?” Niall nods and they shuffle around each other, biting back laughs. “Let him down easy,” he says with a wink, finishing the rest of his drink and leaning over the bar to order another one.

He’s looking out of the corner of his eye at Niall so he doesn’t even notice the bartender until he’s standing right in front of him with wide green eyes and a big smile.

“What can I get you?” He asks, wiping a faded red towel across the bar top. His smile is disarming especially when Zayn notices dimples punctuating it and softening the definition of his jaw. His brown hair with streaks of lighter shades is pulled back in a bun but there’s a curl twirling out near his ear and Zayn can’t take his eyes away from him as quiet moments slip past. The guy just keeps smiling--though it shrinks a little the longer they stand and stare at each other without speaking.

“Just a vodka soda, please.” Zayn’s voice is stronger than he feels and the bartender nods before turning back to the liquor behind him.

Zayn sits on one of the barstools that vacates next to him, keeping one eye on Niall and the red-haired guy. Niall seems to be getting on much better than Zayn had anticipated and he tries to let their conversation blend in with the general buzz rather than eavesdrop.

“Here you are, mate.” The bartender is back in front of him setting a glass stuffed with limes and lemons on the bar top. His lips are such a pretty pink when he smiles, like a strawberry Starburst. He looks like a younger version of Mick Jagger and the realization makes Zayn lose his train of thought completely. Two times in a row he’s gone almost speechless over the same boy and it has to be a record.

“Thanks,” he says finally, reaching in his pocket for his wallet.

The guy reaches his hand out, “On the house.” He winks as he moves down the bar and Zayn, cross his heart but will never admit it out loud, swoons a bit.

He sips on his drink and tries not to stare too obviously as the bartender talks to a girl a few people away and starts making her drink. He’s tall but maybe only a bit taller than Zayn, his arms flexing as he reaches up to the top shelf, showing off lithe muscles. He has a Rolling Stones t-shirt with a tear right on the stomach and he’s used a safety pin to hold it together. Not that he can help himself, but Zayn finds the idea that the guy loves his shirt that much hopelessly endearing.

_Zayn! Zayn! Zayn!_

He cringes as Louis’ yelling pierces all of the other sounds in the bar but he turns on the stool to face him anyway. “Have I told you I hate when you do that?” He asks when Louis is standing in front of him with his same stupid grin on his face.

“Not for at least two hours,” he drawls before he takes a sip from Zayn’s drink.

Zayn tries to knock him in the balls for it but he’s more unsteady than he anticipates and has to right himself by grabbing onto Louis’ arms instead. “Prick.”

“Cheers, love,” Louis says before he leans in close. “Who is this bloke Nialler is chatting up, by the way?”

Zayn keeps his eyes straight forward, “Not sure. He thought he was making a move on me but when I listened to him he was rather more focused on someone else,” he says.

“Really?” Louis’ eyes go wide and he purses his lips as he looks over. “I like it. I definitely approve.”

Zayn’s laughter is louder than he’s expecting and he puts a hand over his mouth. “Lou, how’d you know we all seek your approval in everything we do?”

Louis doesn’t dignify him with a response just takes another gulp of Zayn’s drink. “Anyway,” he says loudly, smacking his lips before Zayn can protest, “Liam wants to head out and I’m horny so I’m up for it.”

“Nope,” Zayn squeezes his eyes shut, “Stop it. Stop right there.”

“You’ve genuinely seen every corner of my brain,” Louis says dramatically, “But if you can’t handle my sex-drive...”

This time Zayn lands his knee correctly and Louis squeals as he cups his crotch. “Hate you,” he whispers, going red in the face.

“Keep your nasty thoughts to yourself,” Zayn says with a sweet smile. “And if you’re asking if I want to come, the answer is, by all means, no.”

Louis straightens and wiggles his hips, wincing before he pats his crotch again with a flat hand. Zayn rolls his eyes at the dramatics. “I was just going to see if you wanted to walk home with us since we’ll pass your flat, but I’m rescinding the offer.”

“Only because I already said I didn’t want to come,” Zayn points out, knowing he’s right.

“Get out my head,” Louis grumbles. “In our next life, I’m going to be able to read your mind, by the way.”

Zayn laughs again, “I look forward to it.” He glances over his shoulder to see if the bartender is still there and he feels his cheeks redden when he makes eye contact with him at the opposite end of the counter. He turns back to Louis willing his face back to normal but Louis sees right through him.

“What’s going on?” He goes up on his tiptoes to follow Zayn’s gaze but Zayn tugs him back down by the edge of his shirt.

“Don’t, Louis.”

“I’m not,” Louis says pursing his lips again as he still tries to see what Zayn was looking at. Liam comes up behind him then, wraps his arms around Louis’ waist. It’s cute but Zayn has to glance away. He’s happy for Louis, he is, but it’s hard to avoid how badly he wants someone to take home at night, someone who wraps an arm around him, interrupts him just to kiss his forehead and--

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Zayn interrupts his own runaway thoughts.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says as Liam starts pulling him backwards. “Hey, Li. That bartender is well fit, isn’t he?”

“Louis,” Zayn says with a hard shake of his head and Louis giggles as he turns in Liam’s arms and pulls him toward the door without giving him a chance to respond.

Zayn turns back towards the bar when, _Be safe, you idiot,_ in a familiar tone slices through the dull buzz to make him smile. Typical, Louis. He sets his glass back on the bar top, sad to see it’s empty when he only remembers taking two sips. Zayn twirls on the stool to complain to Niall but he’s nowhere to be seen. He goes to call him right before he sees a new text that says, “Walking Abbie home,” instead, and he smiles slowly. What an interesting turn of events.

“What are you smiling at?”

Zayn starts as the bartender sneaks up on him again. He can feel his heart beating erratically from his chest to his fingertips. “Nothing,” he says.

The guy narrows his eyes before a smile overtakes his features and he grins, “Fair enough. You need anything else?”

“Another one of these,” Zayn says lifting the empty glass. “Please. My friend somehow inhaled it without me knowing.”

He nods. “Boyfriend?”

Zayn shakes his head, “Nope. Best friend since I was learning how to use a toilet, though.” The guy starts laughing again but this time it’s a bursting sound that warms Zayn from the inside out and catches him off guard all over again. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“Afraid so, mate.” His tone is teasing as he turns to pour Zayn’s drink.

Zayn rubs his hands over his face--absently noticing the buzzing in his head has gone down slightly. The crowd in the bar is definitely waning, as it gets closer to shutting down.

“What’s your name?” The bartender, baby Jagger, slides Zayn the drink and leans forward onto his elbows. There are only a few other people actually sitting up at the bar but Zayn is more than happy to have this guy to himself.

“Zayn,” he says. “And you?”

“Harry.” He grins again.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” Zayn winces, “And I really meant to phrase that as a question but I think it came out wrong.” He’s not sure what it is about Harry but he’s losing his flirtatious touch, clearly. Or maybe it’s just that he hasn’t found anyone worth flirting with in a long time.

Harry’s lips twitch at the same times his fingers do, like they’re connected. “I used to only work during the day shifts between classes,” he says, “So I imagine you wouldn’t have seen me.”

Zayn nods, “What’d you do at night?” He feels like his brain has been turned inside out and he’s just spilling every thought _he_ has for a change. He takes a sip of his new drink.

“Curious one, aren’t you?” Harry smirks. “I like it, though.” He ducks his head as if he’s said something unexpected before he meets Zayn’s eyes again. “I, uh, visited the retirement home and taught, kind of.”

“Taught?”

“I like art but I’m not very good at it. And, um, they were looking for someone to teach art classes to some of the residents there so I applied.” He seems suddenly shy about it and Zayn wants to reach for him.

He curls his fingers against his thigh, “And now?”

Harry twists one of the rings on his finger before he speaks. “They took a vote and decided they would like it if I could come during lunch or one night a week instead.”

Zayn hums and he’s surprised to find he can hear it over the rest of the people in the bar. It always takes awhile for the buzz in his mind to calm after a night out, almost like a hangover, but talking to Harry is helping. “Why did they want to change it?”

Harry’s lips twitch again. “They know that I’m supporting myself and that I could get paid more if I took a night shifts at the pub instead of only day shifts.” The corner of his mouth pulls up, “They acted like the vote was for them but I know them better than they think.”

Zayn doesn’t mean to be speechless again but here he is. “Wow.”

“I’m really lucky,” Harry says. His voice is slow, his words thought out in a way that Zayn likes. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“What do you do at night? Or during the day? Either.”

“I’m a student too,” Zayn says dragging his finger through the condensation on his glass. “I work at the animal shelter in the afternoons. They can’t take votes on anything but I think they like me.”

Harry laughs so genuinely at Zayn it makes his heart catch in his throat. He has no idea who this boy is but he is ridiculously enamored already.

“Old people and abandoned animals,” Harry says with the ghost of laughter still on his lips, “We’re quite the pair, eh?”

Zayn smirks, “That we are.”

“Harry, help down here please.”

Harry jumps at the summons, says, “Be right there,” before turning towards Zayn. “I have to take care of some paperwork real quick, will you still be here when I get back?”

He knows he should say no and go home, he shouldn’t get himself wrapped up in something he knows wont last, but he nods instead. “I will, yeah.” Blame the alcohol, his dick or his heart but he thinks he’d wait ages for Harry to come back to him.

*

Zayn keeps his word and less than twenty minutes later he and Harry are standing outside of O’Malley’s, wrapped in their jackets and blowing on their hands for warmth.

“I hope this isn’t presumptuous,” Harry says rocking forward on his toes, “But would you want to come back to mine? You can say no, if you want. I just figure it would be warmer.” He pauses and bites his lip.

Zayn’s ears are still ringing from the bar, let alone the mess of leftover buzzing in his head, but he smiles effortlessly. “I'd love to.”

Harry looks pleased as he takes Zayn’s hand in his and starts walking the opposite way Zayn would usually head, further into the city.

Zayn likes the way his hand fits inside Harry’s—not only for the sheer size of Harry’s hand—but how warm he is, the way he makes Zayn feel smaller, protected even. He mentally chides himself for equating a handhold to protection. That, he will definitely blame on alcohol.

Harry’s breath comes out in soft puffs as they walk slowly and Zayn catches each time he sneaks a glance over towards him in the middle of talking, when he thinks Zayn isn’t looking. He's telling a story about the tiny town he grew up in when Zayn stops them short.

“What?” Harry whispers when Zayn does nothing but stare at him. His eyes are like sea glass, almost a clear green under the streetlights and so wide open as he patiently waits for Zayn to say something. His lips are more raspberry red than they were in the bar and Zayn finds that most distracting of all.

He shakes his head slowly, reaching one hand out to tuck the twirling hairs from Harry’s loose bun behind his ear, “Nothing,” he says softly. He doesn’t take his hand from Harry’s jaw as they watch each other standing in the middle of the empty sidewalk.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks just as quietly and Zayn nods. No one’s ever asked him before. Harry leans in slowly and Zayn has to meet him halfway, shifting his head only a little.

When their lips come together Harry sighs against his mouth and Zayn hums at the warm gust of air. He presses his body closer to Harry to steal his warmth and to feel his hands running up and down his back even through his thick brown jacket. Harry teases Zayn’s mouth open with his tongue and the gentle fierceness of his lips sends fire erupting from Zayn’s belly. He pulls back with one more kiss pressed to Harry’s mouth before he drops his hand from his jaw. Their fingers are still twisted together between them and Zayn squeezes Harry’s slowly.

He has yet to hear Harry’s thoughts to know if he hates him or thinks his tongue is too wide or his shoulders are too bony or he’s just a pretty face but he doesn’t care. Not yet at least. He wants to take tonight and if in the morning, his sober mind hears everything in Harry’s head then he’ll know, at least, they had one good night.

As soon as Harry unlocks the door to his flat a few blocks later, his lips are back on Zayn’s, unyielding as he pushes him back against the nearest wall. The kiss isn’t gentle or slow anymore but Harry presses against his lips like he’s been there before. Zayn’s hands fall to his waist and squeeze the softest part of his hips while Harry kisses along his jaw, lower to work down his throat.

“Where’s you bedroom, babe?” Zayn manages to whisper when Harry is kissing the sensitive spot under his ear, his thumb running and endless loop over the shaved part of Zayn’s hair.

Harry pulls back, lips wet and pupils blown into ink spots. “This way,” he says grabbing onto Zayn’s hand and walking backwards as he pulls him along.

Zayn’s caught off guard, again, by the complete openness of Harry’s face, the unhidden want in his eyes and the playful curve of his smile. He backs himself into a door and yelps before he straightens their path and pulls Zayn through the doorway instead. Harry’s room is lit only by faint moonlight and a nightlight plugged into the wall near the corner.

“That’s embarrassing,” Harry says, following Zayn’s gaze to the light. He marches over and takes it out letting it fall to the ground.

“I think it’s cute,” Zayn says as Harry makes his way back towards him.

“Thanks, I think.” Harry’s lips are on Zayn’s before he can respond, his hands everywhere at once, under his shirt and up his back, pressing him forward until their chests touch. Then Harry’s hands are going down, down until he’s cupping Zayn’s arse, pressing him forward for Zayn to feel the thick line of his cock through his impossibly tight black jeans. It’s like he’s sixteen all over again, and he swears he sees stars.

Harry lifts Zayn up to walk to the bed, holding onto his thighs while Zayn clutches to his neck, untwisting the hair tie so Harry’s hair falls free. He’s surprised by how long it is, brushing the tops of Harry's shoulders, as he pushes his hand back through it. Harry lays him down on the bed and he makes a low sound in his throat when Zayn runs his hand through his hair again, it makes him grin.

“You like that?” Zayn pulls on his curls slightly and feels his cock twitch at the way Harry’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Yeah,” he whispers over a swallow, pressing his lips to Zayn’s again and resting his weight between his legs. Their hands and lips roam like they have all the time in the world, bites and drags of fingernails make desire curl tight in Zayn’s stomach.

“Want your clothes off,” Harry whispers against the shell of his ear, dipping his hips low as he does it.

Zayn nods too many times as Harry lifts his weight off so he can move. “You too, babe.” He punctuates the request with a smack on Harry’s arse and he doesn’t miss the darkening behind those sea green eyes.

Harry’s up off the bed in an instant, unbuttoning his pink shirt with fervent fingers as Zayn gets his top off and tosses it across the room. Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of Zayn’s inked skin even as he reveals his own, big pieces like birds and a butterfly and a smattering of random things along his arm, Zayn can’t help but smile dopily at. He can’t remember ever being so turned on and terribly charmed all at the same time. The shirt falls from Harry’s shoulders and Zayn knee walks over to him on the bed, unsure how to process the hard lines of Harry’s abs with the soft lines of his hips, the broad strength in his shoulders tapering away to his waist. All he wants is to taste.

Zayn has to curve his neck up to kiss Harry’s lips from where he stands at the edge of the bed. He draws feather light patterns up his sides with his fingers and swallows Harry’s whimper against his lips when he thumbs over his nipples and presses harder with the pads of his thumbs. He kisses down Harry’s chest, and sucks a mark, deep and purpling on his chest because he can, because he likes the way Harry is holding his head with both hands, pressing his face closer to his skin. When he looks up again, Harry’s lip is caught between his teeth, his cheeks red even in the softest lights from outside.

“Off,” Zayn murmurs, sticking his fingers down the sides of his jeans until Harry takes over and pushes them the rest of the way off, leaving him naked. His breath catches, eyes drinking in the long, lean body in front of him, the hard lines and soft edges dotted in ink.

Harry breaks the moment with a dimpling grin, “You like?”  
He nods, words lost as Harry crawls up and over him, pressing him back down to the pillows with feverish kisses. He mouths along the tattoos on Zayn’s chest, and Zayn can tell when he is trying to fit his lips to the inked ones on his sternum, smiling each time he adjusts his head. He pets back his hair and lets him do it, his back arching when Harry gives up and makes a lip shaped mark of his own right next to the inked pair.

Harry’s fingers skitter down Zayn’s side at the same pace his tongue moves along his chest and stomach, pushing him down to the bed, with firm presses and gentle lips. He makes quick work of Zayn’s jeans and pants, sitting up on his knees by Zayn’s feet to look at him. “You look so good like this,” Harry says, one hand drawing in a hard fist around his own cock. “All spread out for me,” he whispers in a much lower tone and Zayn keens.

He sits up to pull Harry in by his waist, ducking to kiss over his heart and then up until he reaches his lips, pulling him down on top of him with his hands twisted in his hair, naked bodies pressed close together. Harry ruts his hips down against Zayn, and his cock, hard and wet against Zayn, is what makes him whine out loud.

“What do you want?” Harry says against his jaw. “Can I fuck you, babe?” He smiles sheepishly when he realizes he’s answered his own question without hardly taking a breath.

Zayn’s mind is flooded with words and bright colors, but no pressing buzz against his skull for a glorious moment as he looks at Harry. He holds his face right close to his, answers with his lips, with his hands twisted in Harry’s curls. “Want to ride you,” he whispers right up against his mouth if only for the way his words make Harry’s hips dip against his again, his breath punch out from between his lips.

“We can—yeah.” His voice is raspy and deeper than what it's been all night as he holds himself over Zayn. Harry rolls to his back, and takes Zayn with him then, helping him sit up, legs straddled over Harry’s waist.

“You have stuff?” Zayn asks, running his hands up and down Harry’s belly as they stare at each other.

If Harry forgot what they were doing he remembers then, one long arm flinging out towards his nightstand for a condom and a bright pink bottle of lube encrusted with rhinestones. “It was a gag gift,” Harry explains weakly. “But it’s the really good stuff so I kept—“

Zayn cuts him off with his lips, smiling against his mouth, his wonderfully dirty, pretty mouth. Harry’s hands go to his hips, and Zayn can feel his fingers pressing on both sides of him, holding him so easily. He startles when Harry sits up, their chests pressed together again.

“Changed my mind. Gonna open you up first, so I can see you.” Each word is exhaled against Zayn’s jaw and down his neck and he nods helplessly, letting Harry move until Zayn’s the one on his back again and Harry is holding himself up over him.

“You’re beautiful, Zayn,” he says, almost in awe, scooting down the bed until his face is even with his thighs.

Zayn’s hands scramble to hold on to the duvet when Harry presses his legs apart and starts kissing the insides of his thighs, sucking a mark that has Zayn’s hips pressing up. He hears the snick of the lube cap right as Harry’s mouth goes over the tip of his cock and it’s sensory over load. The first press of Harry’s finger comes the moment he takes Zayn in his mouth fully. He’s already suspended so high, tied up tight but on the verge of floating away as Harry presses a second finger along the first. The suction around his cock is too perfect and he gasps when Harry pulls his mouth off to watch his fingers move, curling them up inside of him with his head tilted to the side in clear curiosity. Zayn’s hips snap and his back arches up when he moves his fingers.

“There we go,” Harry says, doing the same movement again and again.

“Not gonna last if you do that,” Zayn pants, one foot pressing low on Harry’s back to keep him close.

“One more, love,” Harry says along with the cool drip of more lube. “Want to make sure you can take it.” 

By the time Harry flops onto his back, Zayn’s thighs are shaking, and he’s trying to figure out how to catch his breath. He grabs onto Harry’s hands as he settles over his thighs exhaling a shaky breath.

“You good?” Harry asks even though he’s the one who has Zayn’s bones melting yet still begging for a release.

“So good,” Zayn muses putting his hand on Harry’s cock and running his hand up with his thumb pressed to the head. “So good,” he repeats, leaning forward to lick the tip of Harry, moaning around the salty sweet taste. Come is come in all forms, not a treat by any means but something about Harry has him licking his lips. 

“Come on, then, babe.” Harry’s eyes are heavy and his lips are bitten an even darker pink than they were in the cold outside and he looks stunning. It’s like he’s taking Zayn’s breath away slowly with each deep measured word he says and each brush of his fingers against Zayn’s thighs. Zayn rolls the condom over Harry’s length, smiles as he uses the pink rhinestone lube to slick him up.

“Turn around,” Harry says sitting up, and putting his hands on Zayn’s hips to turn him to face away. Zayn goes up on his knees until his back is pressed to Harry’s chest, holding himself up with his hands on Harry’s thighs. He squeezes as Harry guides his cock to Zayn’s entrance, holding him by his hips as he gets him to sit back.

Zayn hisses at the first contact against his rim, keening again when Harry presses in. Harry pauses at the sound but Zayn shakes his head, “M’good, babe. Good.”

Harry shifts under him until he’s on his knees too as Zayn sits fully, and Zayn can feel his teeth on the back of his neck. Zayn lifts himself up before he starts to roll his hips, one hand reaching behind him to hold Harry’s head as he moves. Harry kisses his neck and runs his hands up his stomach, touching at every possible point.

It’s slick and wet between them, hot as Harry pants against his shoulder--borderline animalistic the way they move together, pushing and pulling, desperate to touch and lose their breath.

“So pretty,” Harry whispers looking over Zayn’s shoulder. When his hand wraps around Zayn’s cock his head lolls back against Harry, a broken whimper falling from his lips.

“Harry.” He exhales his name against the side of his neck, the fiery ball in his stomach closing in to one point, heavier with each stroke of Harry’s hand. “Wait, wait.”

Harry stops with a pained sound as Zayn lifts himself off of him. “What?” He asks, genuine concern lacing the heavy brokenness of his tone.

Zayn doesn’t say anything as he turns in Harry’s lap to face him, his hands resting on his shoulders as he sinks on him again, their chests pressing together, “Wanna see you when you come for me.”

Harry’s hands are everywhere after that, holding Zayn down on his cock, lifting him, brushing his hair out of his face—his lips on Zayn’s, down his neck against his shoulder. The sounds falling from Harry’s lips are so beautiful, the soft whines and pretty moans. Zayn’s cock lays heavy between their bellies and Harry grabs him, thumb sliding his precome down over him.

“Come on, babe,” Harry whispers, “Wanna see you.”

Zayn nods, his lip caught between his teeth focusing on the fullness of Harry inside him, the encompassing strength of his arm around his waist and the relentless fist between them. Zayn meets his eyes, so clear and open it makes his hips stutter and then he’s coming, trembling against Harry as he spills, their lips barely brushing together in heated pants.

He can’t get the awestruck look off of his face when Harry pulls back and lifts his hand, wet with Zayn’s come, to his lips, licking up and down his finger with his eyes never leaving Zayn’s. Zayn anchors himself with his last bit of strength as he focuses on riding Harry, hard as he can, quick and tight, until Harry comes with his jaw dropped open, one of his fingers covered in Zayn pressed against his full bottom lip. It’s the image Zayn never wants to forget even as he can feel the come cooling on his stomach, the image of Harry so beautiful and strung out in pleasure, his face wide open with it.

Once they’ve cleaned up, Zayn goes to pull his pants on, hesitant about the idea of walking all the way home in the cold, when Harry grasps his wrist from where he lays on the bed. “Stay. Please.”

Zayn looks over his shoulder at him and he knows he shouldn’t. He knows exactly how this will end when he sobers up and starts registering his own insecurities reflected in Harry’s mind, when he can hear all the things wrong with him as clear as day without Harry’s lips moving once.

“Okay,” he says despite his best judgment because maybe for right now he can pretend he’s normal, that Harry’s just a mysterious boy he met in a bar before it all falls down around them. He drops his pants to the ground and crawls back up the bed, fits where Harry has the sheets pulled up for him.

“I like to be the little spoon.” Harry’s voice is soft, like maybe it's is a secret he doesn’t tell everyone.

“That’s fine, babe,” Zayn says against his lips. He tastes like the toothpaste they both just used and there are traces of Zayn on his tongue too.

Harry turns in his arms until his back is pressed to Zayn’s chest and he snuffles against the pillow. Zayn smoothes his hair away from his neck and presses his face there, breathing in the smell of Harry and holding on tight before it gets ripped from him when daylight hits.

*

It’s silent when Zayn starts to wake up, as silent as it is every morning. The dull October light is shining behind his eyes, a sharper headache tapping in his head. He sighs before he opens his eyes, realizing slowly there’s something brushing through his hair, fingers running down the side of his face.

Harry.

His eyes open and meet the green ones in front of him. Harry pulls his hand back like he’s been burned at the sudden movement, eyes going impossibly wider.

“No, no,” Zayn rasps. He clears his throat but it doesn’t make it much better, “I like it.”

Harry smiles softly and puts his hand back on Zayn’s face, thumb running over the top of his cheek bone again and again. Nothing else but their soft breathing as they look at each other and the distant sound of a siren through the window.

Silence.

The realization makes Zayn jolt just as if Harry had spoken in his head. He pulls back and Harry’s hand falls from his face again. This time, he doesn’t put it back, grips onto the edge of his pillow while he watches Zayn carefully.

Sober and in morning light, Zayn should be able to hear him. There should be no such thing as silence while he lays in someone else's bed. He focuses as hard as he can on Harry’s eyes, willing his mind to connect, to hear him already. Harry smiles softly while he looks at Zayn—clueless to the turmoil suddenly wracking his brain.

There’s still nothing.

Without really thinking, not really, he reaches out to pinch Harry’s nipple, waiting for the pain to register in his mind before his lips, the foolproof sound Zayn can always hear.

“Hey,” Harry whines out loud and Zayn gasps.

Zayn does it again, harder, desperate to hear the echo in Harry’s mind but there’s nothing. Just, “What are you doing, babe?” on the edge of a laugh from Harry.

Panic rears up in his chest, pressure right over his heart when he scrambles backwards, space falling between the two of them even as Harry reaches out for him.

“Zayn?” His eyebrows pull together as Zayn stands up next to the bed, pulling on his pants. His soft smile melts into confusion, his lips parted as he watches.

Zayn stutters out, “I just remembered something,” though he can’t articulate what he might have remembered or a viable reason for extricating himself from the warm bed or this boy. This boy who had made him feel things he hasn’t felt in too long, who had given him brief hope in the desolate confusion of who he’s always been.

“Is everything okay?” Harry sits up and the duvet pools against down to his waist, skin golden in the morning light. His hair is still mussed from sleep and where Zayn’s hands were in it and Zayn has to look away.

“Fine. It’s fine,” he mumbles as he buttons his jeans, pulls his shirt over his shoulders.

“Okay.” Harry’s voice is small and Zayn pauses to look at him. He doesn’t have to be able to see inside Harry’s mind to read the hurt and disorientation on his face.

“I’m so sorry, Harry.” Zayn runs his hand back through his hair, his tongue thick in his mouth. The panic is hot and heavy in his chest but he’s not too gone to know what this looks like, to know what _he_ looks like.

He can’t look at Harry as he leaves his room and haphazardly puts his boots on by the door. Harry doesn’t come out or call to him when Zayn pulls the front door open. Zayn’s not sure why he would expect otherwise. He’s the one who is leaving like the flat is on fire.

He gets halfway down the street before he even realizes it, walks through a group of teenagers and gets bombarded with their thoughts and voices all at once because he wasn’t paying attention. The yelling makes him wince and he starts walking faster to get away, his head down as he watches his feet and counts his steps straight up to Louis’ front door. Only when he knocks does he realize his shirt is buttoned just halfway and his boots are untied.

“What is this, then?” Louis’ has one hand shielding his eyes from the natural light when he opens the door, his pants barely pulled up all the way.

“I couldn’t hear him, Lou. I couldn’t--even sober there was nothing at all,” Zayn says with no introduction or context he realizes too late. “I can’t hear him.”

Louis hums, probably assumes Zayn is tripping on something, “Okay.”

Zayn has no patience, he just pushes past Louis and into the warmth of his flat. “Louis, listen to me—“

“Liam’s here,” Louis warns with a glance towards the back bedroom as he shuts the front door.

He lowers his voice, “Last night, the bartender, Harry, I went home with him.” Louis’ mouth drops open, a crude comment more than likely on the edge of his tongue but Zayn shakes his head. “We went to his flat and I couldn’t hear him because sometimes I can’t for a few hours, you know? But this morning, I should have been able to and I still couldn’t. Like there’s nothing. Even when I focused only on him.” The panic he had barely managed to quell on the walk over rumbles again and he runs his hands over his face, takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“Zayn,” Louis says slowly, drawing his finger slowly over his forehead, “This is what you’ve been waiting for. Practically your entire life, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t think it was real,” Zayn yells, his hands flying out to the side as he tries to quiet his voice again, “It was a stupid story that wasn’t supposed to happen!”

Louis rubs the sleep from his eye and crosses his arms over his bare chest, “Did you like him?”

“What?” Zayn mirrors Louis stance, his voice a harsh whisper. “Of course I did. He’s gorgeous and so sweet with this weird sense of humor,” his voice trails off.

“So, ordinarily, you would be interested in him?”

Zayn nods, nausea suddenly pushing through panic.

Louis glances towards the closed bedroom door before he speaks. “And now you can’t read his mind—the only thing, mind you, you’ve ever even wanted—and you ran away from him, didn’t you?”

His words hit like a dead weight and Zayn wilts under them, collapsing back against the faded leather couch with a loud groan. “I really fucked that up, didn’t I?” Louis doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t have to—Zayn can hear the pity in his thoughts anyway. He opens his eyes when he feels movement next to him and glances at Louis. “What do I do?”

“You go back and apologize for being a bloody lunatic.”

Zayn laughs but it’s bitter to his ears. “I apologize, Harry, because for once in my life you made me feel normal and it scared the hell out of me?”

“Something along those lines,” Louis says evenly.

Zayn exhales but it’s shaky, his thoughts twisting in turning in his head. “That would be wildly embarrassing, wouldn't it? Maybe I shouldn’t.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Oh, here we go.”

“No, listen,” Zayn says quickly. “If it’s really fate and meant to be and all those things like my mum said, I’ll see him again. If it’s a fluke, I’ll never see him again. If it’s not meant to be, he doesn’t deserve to be weighed down with my baggage just because we slept together one night. I can't just go around royally mind fucking people on a whim.”

“That’s really dumb, I hope you know." Louis scratches at his bare stomach, staring at Zayn. "You do realize if it is fate then you met him the first time, last night, by fate too. Who knows if it will actually happen that way again. You may not mind fuck him but you might be fucking with fate to not take the chance.”

Zayn looks away pointedly. As per usual, Louis has a knack for pointing out what Zayn can’t admit--the things he might be to scared to admit. “Shut up and go back to your boyfriend,” he mumbles, standing back up. “I can hear him from out here.”

Louis starts to walk away before he pauses, “I thought you couldn’t hear through walls?”

Zayn wiggles his eyebrows taking a step towards the door, “Guess you’ll never really know.”

“Guess you’ll never really know, “ he mimics as he walks away. And then a minute after his door closes, he yells, “Did you hear that?”

Zayn doesn’t bother with an answer just lets the front door close behind him.

He replays the night with Harry as he walks home and barely restrains himself from slapping his palm to his face at least three different times for the way the morning put a dark shadow over the whole thing—the way he put a dark shadow over the whole thing. Still, he gets flashes of the way Harry looked at him in the bar asking him to wait for him, the way he picked up Zayn in his bedroom so effortlessly, the way he came with his fingers pressed to his lips—the way he looked this morning before Zayn tore apart everything they might have had a chance of having.

Three blocks from his apartment, a man turns the corner just in front of him and Zayn picks up his thoughts effortlessly. He is engrossed in a debate over which gifts to purchase for his niece’s birthday. It’s come down a play oven or a collection of dresses for her doll and though Zayn has no say or stake in the matter, it’s nice to get lost in someone else’s problems for awhile—if only to forget about the absolute ridiculousness of his own.

*

“I’m never going to see him again, am I?” Zayn is sitting in the alcove on the floor above a lecture hall with Louis across from him, quickly finishing his work before his class.

“How long has it been? Three weeks?” Louis shrugs, “I wouldn’t say _never_ but I will say you waited twenty-two years the first time, there’s a chance you’ll wait twenty-two more to see him again.”

Zayn sighs, watching the rain slither down the pane glass window next to them. “It could have been a fluke anyway, you know? Like our brains were on two different radio frequencies and it might just have taken longer for them to connect. Maybe if I had stayed five more minutes we would have synced up and it would be the same story just a different guy.”

“Sure,” Louis says without looking up. He’s been patient with Zayn’s theories and moping about waiting to see Harry again. Not once has he made fun of Zayn for thinking he sees Harry only to be startled by a different stranger all together when they turn around. Louis even humored him by going to O’Malley’s two weekends in a row and once in the middle of the week to see if Harry was there—to absolutely no avail.

“I don’t see why I have to go in there and you can’t,” Louis had argued both times while they stood outside.

“If he’s in there I need to have a plan before I go in so you can give me a heads up,” was Zayn’s measured response. If he felt like Louis was wavering he’d end with, “You know what it does to my head when I go in there,” just to seal the deal.

Then, Louis sat patiently through Zayn’s detailed theory about how Harry wasn’t real at all—just a ghost of a soul mate, a taste of something he wouldn’t get to have again.

“I can’t believe you don’t know anything about him,” Louis says now. “Like, you didn’t even talk about classes or anything? Or get his bloody phone number. That would have been too easy.”

Zayn shakes his head, “I know he teaches art at the senior center across the bridge but there’s six senior centers across the bridge.” Louis snorts at his research. “I don’t know, Lou. It was like we didn’t have to talk about things like our favorite colors or books—we just clicked right away, like two pieces of the same puzzle.”

Louis closes his notebook and stares at Zayn, “Like two pieces of a soul coming together?” His voice is flat, dripping with sarcasm. Zayn’s answering groan is drowned out by the lecture letting out just below them, the swarms of students talking loudly. They go their separate ways when they get to the stairs--Louis to lecture and Zayn to try to cheer himself up at the shelter.

*

He spends most of his shift with the three kittens, now fat fluff balls stumbling around as opposed to the helpless little beings they were when they first got there.

“Zayn, are you back here, love?”

“In the nursery,” he calls back as Darlene, the owner of the shelter, appears at the gate.

Her thoughts precede her, _He looks so sad these days, those circles under his eyes,_ before she speaks out loud. “I’m off to go pick up the dog food donations barrel at the library so you’ll have to close. That okay?”

Zayn nods, laughs when Momo climbs up his arm and starts for his head.

“You be careful, Zayn, or you’ll be adopting all three of those kitties,” Darlene says as she walks away her boots clicking on the cement.

“I would if I could, you know that,” he calls after her. Darlene is already planning her route to the library so Zayn can’t hear anything else about the sadness clouding his eyes. He presses Ike’s nose to his, stares into his green eyes and tries to see inside his mind. It’s another thing he’s always wished for—screw humans he would rather know what the animals have to say.

He hears the bell chime out front just as he’s climbing out of the kitten enclosure followed by a slowly panicked, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” and then, much louder, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Zayn calls back pushing through the doors in the backroom and coming face to face with green eyes and unruly coppery curls holding a muddy bulldog. His breath gets lodged somewhere at the bottom of his lungs and his fingers curl under at Harry standing right in front of him.

Harry pulls the dog a little closer to his chest, his eyes going wide as he registers who he's looking at too. He’s soaking wet from his head down and with mud all the way up his side like he laid in it and smeared along his face. There’s a little on his lips too and as he kisses the top of the dog’s head, Zayn realizes why.

“Harry?”

“I was driving home from the retirement center and she was walking on the street and it’s raining so I grabbed her and I think she’s blind because she was weaving in and out and she could have gotten hit by a car and I don’t know what to do,” he stumbles over his words, the edge of panic cutting through his usual slow tone. “Can you help me, please?”

The last part is much softer, like he thinks Zayn might just turn him away. It takes Zayn a moment to realize turning away from Harry is exactly what he did last time. “Yeah, of course, yeah,” Zayn startles into motion reaching for the dog in Harry’s arms. He raises his eyebrows when Harry takes a step back.

“Sorry,” he says, biting his lip, “I might have gotten a little protective on the drive over.”

And, okay, Zayn shouldn’t think it’s so cute but he’s so far past knowing what he should and shouldn’t think anymore.

“Totally understand,” Zayn smiles slightly but Harry doesn’t mirror his expression. “Bring her to the back, yeah? We can dry her off and I can see if she has an ID chip.”

Harry nods and sniffles once before he walks past Zayn and into the backroom like he owns the place. He leaves a little trail of mud behind him that Zayn dodges as he follows him. Harry goes straight over to where the towels are reaching out for one. He grabs one but five end up moving, falling out onto the floor. Harry leans down to pick them up before Zayn realizes how badly his hands are shaking.

“I’ve got it,” Zayn says quickly, squatting in front of him. Harry nods and takes the one towel still in his hand over to the counter. Zayn can’t help but stare after him for a moment, revel in how blocked off his mind is. It’s almost disconcerting to see him panicking and only know by what he looks like instead of the way his thoughts are running rampant through his mind. He quickly stacks the towels back in the rack, tries to catch his breath.

As he gets closer to where Harry is standing, he can hear him murmuring quietly to the dog, rubbing her with the towel. Zayn’s heart does a back flip. “Are you okay, Haz?” Zayn reaches out for the dog, rubbing behind her ear and waiting for Harry to meet his eyes. He doesn’t.

“She must be so scared,” he says. He shakes his head and blows air out between his lips, hard. “She has no idea who I am or why I took her but I couldn’t just let her wander in the rain like that. It’s so cold.” He does the same thing where he blows air out his lips and Zayn wants so badly to see inside him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Zayn says softly. He keeps his hand on the dog instead of reaching for Harry like he wants to. “If I were a lost, blind dog I’d want you to find me too.”

Zayn feels like he watches the words leave his mouth, no way to grab them and push them back in. Harry raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He uses the corner of the towel to wipe his face and smears the mud even more. Zayn can’t help but smirk as he uses the opposite edge of the towel to wipe the mud off for him. There's a moment where they look at each other, Zayn touching Harry through the threadbare material of the towel, too many unspoken words sitting between them. Zayn looks away first.

“How do you know she’s blind, by the way?” He drops the corner of the towel quickly and opens the cabinet overhead to get the identification-scanning device, as Harry picks up the dog to hold her in his arms again.

Harry watches Zayn as he speaks, “When I found her I was calling after her and she came towards my voice but then she walked right past me. And after I got her in the car she was running into the seat and turning in circles and slipping because she couldn’t tell where the edge is,” he shakes his head as his voice trails off. “Plus her eyes are almost white blue, so. Yeah.”

“And how did you get covered in mud?”

Harry smiles for the first time, albeit shyly. “I slipped in the grass trying to get down to her.”  
Zayn’s lips twitch but he just nods. “Okay, well we can see if she has a chip and call her family, okay?”

“She must be so scared,” Harry says again. “I know she has a good home, Zayn. I can just tell that someone loves her—“ Zayn doesn’t ask how he knows that but he lets him go on, “And she’s so helpless.” His voice stops and he looks away, clenching his jaw.

Zayn is met with the incorrigible desire to reach for him again. “Well, usually the chips are right under their collars, if she has one,” he says, running two fingers over the spot to see if he can feel it. Harry nods, apparently unaware or unaffected by how close Zayn is standing to him. Meanwhile, all Zayn can focus on is the way Harry smells like he rolled in grass and something subtly like an old woman with undertones of the same smell Zayn’s skin had after holding him all night.

“What if she doesn’t have a chip?” His voice is closer to Zayn’s ear than expected, deep and slow enough to give him chills.

“We have a spare place she can stay until someone comes to find her.” Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat and Zayn has a feeling there’s no way Harry will leave her alone. “But let’s try this first.”

It takes at least three scans to get it but her information pops up on the device. “Lucy,” Zayn says looking down at the screen, “is a three year old French Bulldog from Manchester. She’s blind but she has three emergency numbers to call.” He shows Harry the screen and he’s glad he does when he sees the relief flood his face, his lips curving into a pretty smile that Zayn can only match.

He holds the dog right up to his face. “Lucy,” Harry whispers against her ear, “We’re going to take you home.”

Zayn moves when Harry glances over at him and he realizes he’s supposed to be calling the three emergency numbers on the screen. He grabs his phone out of his jeans and dials the number waiting for it to connect. It turns out Harry is right and the family has inconsolably taken to the streets looking for their dog. Harry starts shifting about when Zayn is taking down the address, worrying his lip between his teeth. After he hangs up Zayn asks him if he wants to come with him, partly because he doesn’t want Harry to leave, partly because he doesn’t think he will be able to pry Lucy away from Harry’s hands.

“You don’t have to,” he says when Harry doesn’t respond right away. “I can take her, I just thought you might want to see the happy reunion.”

Harry is quick this time. “No, yeah, I do. I was just trying to think if I have dry clothes in my car or not.”

He motions to his mud caked jacket and pants and Zayn follows the movement with his eyes. “You can come to mine and I have clothes you could borrow, if you want. I live only a couple of blocks from here.”

At first Harry doesn’t meet his eyes, but when he does he speaks slowly—nearly reluctant. “Are you sure?”

Zayn tries not to make the tension worse just nods as he grabs his keys off the back counter. “Sure. Let me just lock up and we can go.”

*

Zayn unlocks the door to his flat while trying to remember what it looked like when he left this morning. He turns on the lights to find everything picked up save for a cold cup of tea on the counter. At the very least, Harry won’t think he’s a slob. Though, he probably thinks he’s an absolute asshole so it can’t get much worse.

Harry carries Lucy and follows behind Zayn as he turns on the other lights in the hallway and then in the kitchen. When Zayn turns abruptly towards the cupboards they run right into each other and they both smirk. It’s been awhile since Zayn has had someone truly stand right behind him without him knowing.

“You can put her down, if you want. I’m just getting her a bowl water.” Zayn feels like he might scare him away if he starts ogling the way he can’t hear his thoughts again.

Harry sets Lucy down on the floor of the kitchen, keeping one hand on her when he kneels next to her. “I don’t want her to bump into anything.” Zayn only hums as agreement considering he hadn’t even thought about that.

Lucy seems more than happy to have the water when Zayn sets it down and Harry leads her towards the bowl. She sniffs it before she drinks, splashing it all over the linoleum floor with her tongue as she snorts. It goes as far as to splash into Harry’s eye and he squawks while he rubs at it, Zayn laughing right along with him as he moves to sit on the floor too.

“She drinks like me,” Harry says a moment later.

“Do you drink with your tongue like that?” Zayn moves to sit back against the cupboards even though he knows Lucy’s family is waiting, that Harry is waiting on him to go get him clothes. Probably only humoring a conversation in the meantime but Zayn doesn’t care that he’s taking advantage.

“No,” he says, his lips twitching like he has something else to say. “But, like, when I eat, my friends tell me I eat with my tongue first. If that makes sense.”

Zayn mimes putting food in his mouth sticking his tongue out before he catches Harry watching him, a smile on his face. “What? I was trying to figure out how that would be possible.” Harry laughs and it’s a squawk more than anything, loud in Zayn’s silent space but he doesn’t mind.

“Like this,” he says opening his mouth wide and sticks his tongue out but Zayn has absolutely no idea what he’s trying to accomplish.

“It’s cute but I don’t get it,” Zayn says over his laughter.

Harry’s cheeks flush for whatever reason and he closes his mouth quickly. “It works better with, like, food. I think.” His smile is almost shy and Zayn’s heart thuds a little harder.

“We could go get food sometime,” Zayn says slowly with a lame, “So I could see it in action,” tacked on the end. It’s his turn to blush when a laugh bubbles out of Harry’s lips.

“Maybe we could just get food.” He shrugs, eyes trained on Lucy, “Not put so much pressure on my tongue.

Some sort of bubble pops in Zayn’s stomach, nervous relief flooding him at the possibility of a second chance. “I’d like that.” He takes a deep breath, “I feel like things might have ended a bit odd a few weeks ago,” Harry’s lips twitch at the understatement, “And I would really like to take you out again. No pressure on your tongue, though.” Something about Harry, about not knowing what he’s going to say next, has Zayn in a nervous tailspin.

Harry runs his fingers through Lucy’s fur, drawing a zig zag on her back. “I’d really like that,” he says finally. His face is so open when he looks up at Zayn, the willingness to try again written right there.

“Right,” Zayn nods without taking his eyes off of him, “Okay.” He wants to kiss Harry but he knows he’s way too far ahead of himself especially after the way their last morning ended. “Um, I’ll just go get you some clothes then.”

There’s no response this time as Lucy lunges for Harry and he falls backwards with her on his chest. Zayn is watching them over his shoulder and runs right into a wall with a loud thwack. When he meets Harry’s eyes he’s biting his lip and trying not to laugh at him, Zayn can only half smile as he corrects his path and rubs at his forehead where he hit.

*

By the time they make it back to the car after they reunite Lucy and her family, they’re both streaked with rain, cheeks pink from smiling so hard and fighting off the cold on the front porch.

“That little boy was blind,” Harry says after Zayn starts the car. He starts messing with the heat, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them.

Zayn doesn’t say that he knew right away, before the boy picked up his white cane near the door. Not in anything that he was thinking just in the way he processed meeting Harry and Zayn, categorizing their voices and the way Harry’s hand felt in his as opposed to what they looked like.

“I’ve heard about that before. Finding special needs dogs for special needs kids. Just never seen it.”

“I would love that,” Harry says after a moment. He purses his lips, “Not to say that I understand being blind or could say for sure one way or another—“ Zayn smirks at the fairness in Harry’s statement, the accountability he takes. Harry glances over at him but Zayn just shakes his head and lets him keep talking. “But if I was, I would want to know someone understood it. Even if it was just my dog, who didn’t know the difference between what’s normal and what’s not, you know? Like, Lucy just gets it. She isn’t complaining because she just knows that’s the way it is.”

Zayn flips on his turn signal, the clicking sound dwarfed by the rain. “You don’t know that. She could be complaining all the time and we’re the ones who don’t know it.”

Harry hums thoughtfully. “I’d like to know. Like see inside her mind, I mean. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Zayn looks over, his breath caught right in the center of his throat, waiting to see Harry accusing him of something. He’s not. He’s just grinning at Zayn waiting for an answer. He stutters through, “That would be awesome,” and if Harry notices the stilted unease to his voice, he doesn’t say anything.

“I swear animals communicate more than we think,” he says. “I was watching a documentary a couple of weeks ago that said dogs only know about food, fetch and love but I think that’s bullshit.”

Zayn can’t help but laugh at that, the conviction in his voice. Not to mention that Harry is the type of person to watch documentaries on dogs. “Oh, do you?”

Harry nods, turning the heat up a bit more. “I do. That’s not a life worth living to only care about those three things. And maybe part of me wants to believe dogs have a favorite color and cats have secrets. Maybe gerbils have a certain way they organize their bedding because it looks nicer.” He watches as Zayn laughs at him, his lips twitching. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

Zayn shakes his head, if only Harry knew. “Not at all. Or maybe just a little.” Harry nods, like he agrees. “At the same time if a dog only knows food, fetch and love, that’s not the worst three things to know.”

Harry pulls at his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger, “Maybe not. If it’s true, I’m glad they have a sense of love.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. Isn’t that what makes life worthwhile in the first place?”

“Being in love?” Zayn raises a dubious eyebrow and the same doubt colors his voice.

“Sure. But not with a person if that’s what you’re thinking. Although that seems like it would be nice. Just, like, the little kinds of love. Maybe the way you drink your tea in the morning or the way the rain feels on your skin, a Friday afternoon or brunch on a Sunday. Those things--that’s what makes life worth living.”

Zayn pulls up to a stop sign, taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Are you studying Philosophy?”

“Not even close,” Harry laughs, this happy sound reverberating around the car. “I just hang out with a lot of old people. They have a way of putting things in perspective.”

“I guess that would make sense then. Same as hanging out with animals, in a way. Animals don’t know enough to care, old people probably know too much to care.”

“What about us?”

Zayn hums, thinking. “Know too much and care too much, maybe? Or some variation of that for each of us.”

It goes quiet after that, a quiet Zayn loves but has never felt before—not with someone wide awake and sitting right next to him at least.

“I have a question.” Zayn is too nervous to look at Harry directly, focusing just over his ear.

“That’s nice,” Harry says, turning to look out the window. He breaks before Zayn can believe him, though, giggling in a way that make Zayn want to record the sound and not forget it. “Are you going to ask me?”

“Maybe I’m going to keep it a secret now,” Zayn smirks, turning the car back towards downtown, ever closer to where Harry’s car is parked at the shelter.

“Aw, now I really want to know.” Harry reaches out and puts his hand on the top of Zayn’s knee, “Please tell me.”

“I’m not going to look at you right now,” Zayn says through another laugh, his eyes laser focused forward. “I have a feeling you’ve got puppy dog eyes to rival an actual litter of puppies.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just squeezes Zayn’s leg but that is answer enough.

“You said it seems like it would be nice to love someone.” Harry pulls his hand back and Zayn feels the absence in a way he shouldn’t. “Um, I was just wondering why that is? Have you ever been in love with someone?” The silence drags on and Zayn wonders if Harry is going to just ignore him until they get back to his car. He didn’t think the question was overly personal considering their brief history but maybe he thought wrong.

“I think there have been times where I thought I was,” he says finally. “But it never turned out to be that way. Which is okay, I think. I would rather love for a little bit of time than no time at all.” Zayn glances over to see Harry looking at him, “That’s another one from the senior center.”

“Do these people make quote books? There might be an industry there.”

“I’ll have to tap into it, you think?”

Zayn nods, “I like that, though. A little is better than nothing at all.”

“Exactly.” Harry pulls at his bottom lip again and Zayn slows the car down subconsciously. If Harry has more to say, he doesn’t want to get to the shelter before he says it. “I think that there is someone out there who is forever. Or my forever at least.” He shakes his head and drops his hand, “That’s probably dumb too.”

A month ago, Zayn would say it was—that things like that don’t exist in real life. Now he’s not so sure. “I don’t think so,” he says softly.

“Even if it is, in my mind, they exist somewhere--that person. And I have this image in my mind that when I find them, it will be like the rest of the world blurs and I only see them.” Harry’s voice isn’t dreamy like a monologue of a romantic comedy—he talks like this isn’t the first time he’s considered it. “Like, the world will go absolutely silent besides maybe our hearts beating.” His arms fly out to catch himself as Zayn slams on the brakes, his own heart pounding against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice coming out like he’s just run a marathon, “We’re here.”

Harry looks around, seemingly startled. “Oh, right.” He grabs his phone out of the center console while Zayn unlocks the doors. “Wait, I have your clothes.” Harry fingers the hoodie that’s a touch too tight over his shoulders, a touch Zayn wouldn’t change even if he could.

“Take them off,” Zayn says, biting his lip. And then, “I’m kidding,” before the shock can settle on Harry’s face. “Just bring them to our date.”

“Okay,” Harry says. Which is better than saying that he’d agreed on the date to be nice which, Zayn thinks, he could understand. “Well, thanks for the clothes and helping me with Lucy.”

“Of course.” Zayn smiles, struck by the way Harry looks in the dark of the car with the parking lot lamps filtering in. His hair back in a bun, little flyaway curls sticking out and his eyes still shining.

“I need your number,” Harry blurts out after a moment of quiet. Zayn’s pretty sure he would be blushing if it were any lighter. He reaches out with his phone already unlocked and a shy smile.

“Thanks,” he says when Zayn’s done, eyes dropping down to Zayn’s lips before meeting his eyes.

Zayn nods, the moment still hanging. Harry is the one to move first, pressing forward and kissing the corner of Zayn’s lips before he’s back in his seat, opening the door into the chilly night.

“Harry,” Zayn calls right as Harry gets out, waiting for him to look over at him.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think it’s dumb,” Zayn says, “The going silent thing. I don’t think that’s dumb at all.”

Harry watches him for a second, a small smile on his lips. “Good.”

He watches Harry walk to his car, hovering in the parking lot until he gets inside and starts it and then Zayn puts his car into drive and rolls out of the parking lot, his heart just barely returning to a normal pace.

*

Zayn pulls into the parking lot of the senior center and turns off his Google Maps. Harry eats dinner with the people at the center on Friday nights and then teaches a beginners art class afterwards. It’s Zayn’s only night off from the shelter and rather than pushing back seeing Harry even more, they decided dessert afterwards would be a good compromise.

They’ve been texting all week since the Lucy incident, dumb things and little things that don’t matter but mean too much. Zayn pretends his face doesn’t get warm when he sees a new message from Harry and he swears he doesn’t smile at his screen when he responds the way Louis and Niall both insist that he does.

Harry had offered to meet him at the shelter but Zayn was a little too curious about art class at the senior center to allow that to happen. He straightens his denim jacket lined with fleece as he locks his car and heads for the front doors. He’s not usually nervous for dates—not when he knows what everyone’s going to say before they say it, not when he doesn’t have to second guess a single thing because he knows how the other person feels is right there in black and white.

Not Harry, though. Harry is a mess of words Zayn can’t understand, splotches of bright colors on a canvas that Zayn can see on his body but nowhere else.

He follows the directions Harry sent him to get to the big rec room in the back of the center, huge tables with three or four people at each, low music coming through the speakers. Zayn spots Harry at a table with two women at the front and he heads that way, mind infiltrated with words that aren’t his.

_Look at this fine lad._

_I love those tattoos._

_That must be Harry’s boy. Awfully cute, just like he said._

Zayn misses a step at that last one, eyes following to a woman standing up from her table to see him with white bouffant hair and bright pink lips. She winks at him and Zayn’s cheeks go pink—much lighter than her lipstick, he vaguely hopes.

“Don’t be saying that, Louisa,” Harry is in the middle of saying when Zayn walks up. He pauses as soon as he sees him jumping up out of his chair with a shy smile. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Zayn feels the nerves melting from him, overtaken with something much better. Something he can’t place. “I like your, uh, necklaces.”

Harry blinks at him before looking down at the strings of rainbow beads wrapped around his neck. “Jewelry making day,” he explains sheepishly.

“I said I like it, babe. Very fashionable.”

“Are you Zayn?”

Zayn turns to find the woman with the pink lips standing next to him, the top of her head just reaching his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Muriel,” she says, hands on her hips.

“Muriel, this is Zayn,” Harry introduces, “Please be nice.”

“I’m always nice, my love,” she says, her face softening when she looks at Harry but going a little bit more harsh when she looks at Zayn. “Now, Harry here is a special boy. Special, special. Heart of gold, this one.”

“That’s—yeah, okay, that’s embarrassing Muriel,” Harry says.

“You broke his heart.” The lady Harry called Louisa pipes in from her chair.

“That’s not true, Louisa.” Harry’s cheeks are pink and Zayn thinks it might be the sweetest thing he’s ever seen. Not much sweeter than Harry spilling his guts to a group of old ladies.

“It is. You ate pie together that one night and never called him back,” she shakes her head, fishing through the bead container for something in particular.

“Pie?” Zayn looks to Harry this time, eyebrows raised.

Harry’s cheeks go a deeper red. “Yeah. Um, we went to that diner and ate pie, remember?” His eyes beg Zayn to play along and Zayn smirks.

“Of course I remember. I’ll never forget that night or that...pie.” Harry grins at him, eyes locked on each other.

Muriel shuffles to break their eye contact by standing between them, still too short to meet Zayn’s eyes. “You take care of him, okay? He’s an angel and I expect you to treat him as such.”

Zayn says, “Of course,” right as Harry groans. 

“Now,” Muriel says walking back towards her table, “I made you both something.”

Harry just shakes his head when Zayn raises his eyebrows at him, “I’m sorry about all of them.”

“They’re cute,” Zayn says as Muriel turns back to come towards them. “You are too.” He winks just to make Harry roll his eyes over yet another darkening of his cheeks.

“Back in my day, boys brought flowers on dates,” Muriel says. “Of course you both didn’t bother with that.” She shakes her head and holds up two beaded bracelets, both done in purple and green. “Now, this one has the ‘Z’,” she shows the black and white lettered bead in the center, “So Harry you wear that. And Zayn, this one has the ‘H’, so you put that on.”

After Muriel gets the bracelets on them, she makes them swear to be good to each other before patting their arms and sending them on their way. As they make their way out of the room, Harry gets stopped by nearly everyone wanting to see the bracelets or, from what Zayn gets from their collective thoughts, talk to the boy taking out _their Harry._

“They love you in there,” Zayn says when they’re out in the parking lot.

Harry nods, “They do. And I’m not trying to be cocky, they tell me all the time. That’s another thing about them, they say what they’re thinking. Even if it’s something bad-- but they always say how much they love each other too.”

Zayn dodges in front of Harry to open the car door for him, laughing with Harry when he knocks Harry back by opening it too fast. “And Muriel? She seems like a fireball,” he says once he’s in the drivers seat.

Harry hums in agreement. “Her husband, John, he passed away a little over a year ago. She says he has the other piece of her soul. Like, she thinks she isn’t whole anymore since he died, that’s how connected they were.”

“Really?” Zayn pulls out of the parking lot. He's still not sure where they should go for dessert.

He nods, “Yeah. And almost every night she writes him a letter, a love letter. She keeps them in a box next to her bed so he’ll know where to find him when he visits her.”

“That’s really romantic,” Zayn says, meaning it fully.

“Right? Heartbreaking too. To have to live without that other half,” he shakes his head. “It’s unfair.”

“Better to have a little than none at all,” Zayn says and Harry grins.

“That’s Muriel’s quote. Swear to you.”

Zayn laughs, “Well, I believe it even more now.”

“Where are we going?” Harry is looking around in his seat and it reminds Zayn of a kid almost.

“Do you not do well with secrets?”

“I just like to know everything at once, you know? I feel like I’m pretty transparent and I like everything else to be too.”

Zayn snorts, “Transparent, sure.” If only he knew. “And maybe I don’t want to tell you where we’re going.”

“I knew I was going to be kidnapped,” Harry huffs, finally sitting still in his seat. “Too trusting is what my mum always says.”

“You made it hard, I had to work for it,” Zayn says, “But I got you now.” It takes only a moment for him to realize where they should go for dessert.

“I could stop drop and roll out of the car,” Harry says, grabbing onto the dashboard when Zayn makes an immediate U-turn in the middle of the road. 

“That’s for fires, babe. Not kidnapping.”

“To beat your aggressor you need to be vigilant and innovative,” Harry recites and Zayn snorts again.

“You read that in a book?”

“It was attached to the pepper spray my mum got for me and my sister when I was sixteen,” Harry shrugs. “I still have mine, by the way.”

“You sound really proud of that.”

He nods and taps his fingers against his knee, “I am.”

“So you have it right now, then?” Zayn uses the pause at the stoplight to look at Harry as he purses his lips. “Are you saying you _don’t_ have your sacred pepper spray right now?”

Harry looks out the window, “It’s in the drawer next to my bed.”

“With your condoms?” Zayn blushes realizing he’s breaching a topic they haven’t really discussed since that night.

“Right there with the lube,” Harry says unbothered. “So you better be careful next time or I might get confused.”

Zayn laughs and rolls his eyes, more than happy with the empty threat that comes with the promise of a next time

“This is a diner,” Harry says as soon as the pull up to Mae’s right on the edge of town. It’s not very busy—the kind of place that hasn’t been busy in years.

“Very observant.” Zayn parks right up front and kills the ignition. “I used to come here as a kid with my cousins, specifically for their peanut butter chocolate pie.”

“You’re taking me to pie?” Harry stops with one hand on the door.

Zayn nods, “I figured it would be bad karma to go back on what we told Louisa. Or, sorry, what you told Louisa.”

Harry’s lips part and his eyes roam Zayn’s face like he’s reading his skin. It’s one of the many times Zayn wishes he knew what else he was thinking, what he’s keeping quiet. “Okay,” he says finally and Zayn has to bite back a groan. He knows there’s more going on than just _Okay_ but he’ll take what he can get.

“Okay,” he agrees, getting out of the car. He doesn’t say anything at all when Harry reaches for his hand halfway to the door, tugging him in so their hips bump as they walk. Zayn thinks it’s exactly what he’s been waiting for.

Pie turns into a couple of pieces and tea on top of it, talking about nothing at all for a couple of hours. It’s the same thing Zayn told Louis, they don’t talk about their favorite foods or their first kisses, where they grew up—the things Zayn’s covered on every first date he’s ever been on. They talk about weird things like how Harry eats the middle of the Oreo’s first and how Zayn has only had his driving license for a year. They compare stories of broken bones and what kind of lunchboxes they had in Primary school. (Harry had tie-dye but Zayn got Doniya’s old one which was purple with pink flowers.) Harry is easy to talk to, listens like he actually cares and not like he’s planning out what he wants to say next. He’s funny in the kind of unexpectedly dorky way Zayn has usually only attributed to himself.

They build a tower out of the little packets of creamers in the middle of the table and make a bucket list of places they want to visit before they die. Again and again, Zayn is struck by how comfortable he is with Harry. Harry seems perfectly comfortable with Zayn too, for what it's worth, his feet resting on the booth next to Zayn’s thighs as he tells stories about working at the senior center and hangs on to every word about the kittens at the shelter.

“Can I—Do you think I could meet them?” Harry licks the back of his fork, eyes wide.

“Of course,” Zayn says, over a sip from his coffee, “Come in whenever and you can help me feed them too. They have baby bottles and everything.”

Harry looks even more excited, his mouth opening slightly, “I’ll come next week. I’ll come everyday next week, I swear.”

Zayn laughs, “I mean, you definitely can. Just look out because you’ll want to adopt one if you spend too much time with them.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“To me? Always. I don’t have any. Not yet at least. I might have adopted Lucy if she had actually been looking for a home.”

Harry tilts his head, “Would have had to fight me.” He puts his fists up like he’s going to box and Zayn raises both eyebrows at once. “That was love at first sight, me and my blind pal.”

Zayn takes the last piece of piecrust off of his plate and puts it in his mouth. “I’d let her go, then. You’d give her a good home.”

Harry laughs, snorting as he bites his lip. “You, my friend, sound like you're trying to get laid.”

“What?” Zayn pulls back, scandalized, “You’re taking my compliment out of context.”

“Oh, am I?” Harry’s eyes seem darker as he looks at Zayn.

Zayn nods, a smile threatening to break through. “Do you wanna go back to mine, though?” Harry laughs, a loud squawk in the silence of the restaurant—such untainted joy on his face. “Is that a yes?” Zayn tries to school his face to a serious expression, failing when Harry starts laughing so hard he sounds like he’s about to hack up a lung.

“I do, yeah,” he says finally, cheeks pink from laughing so hard, the ghost of a smile still playing on his lips.

*

It’s hard for Zayn to articulate why it feels so important taking Harry back to his flat again. There's just something important in the way Harry holds his hand as they walk up his front walkway and then locks the dead bolt once they’re inside, something else about the way he slips off his boots and lines them up against the wall by the door.

“You’re very courteous. Like, polite,” Zayn says, arms crossed where he stands in the middle of the room. Somehow not being able to read Harry’s mind has left Zayn to make unfiltered observations out loud.

Harry looks like a deer in the headlights as he clasps his hands behind his back. “Um, I’m sorry?” He reaches out a socked foot and knocks one of his boots over. “How’s that?”

This time Zayn is the one to snort, “Pretty wild.”

“Yes,” Harry hisses, pumping his fist in the air as he crosses the room. “What do you want to do? Wanna give me a tour?”

Zayn bites his lip and looks around, “This is more than half of the flat and you’ve already seen it, and the other part is just my bedroom. Not much of a tour I’m afraid.”

Harry takes Zayn hand with both of his, bouncing on his toes. “Wanna see, though.”

“You want to see my bedroom?” Zayn asks, squinting his eyes. “You, my friend, sound like you’re trying to get laid.”

Harry holds Zayn’s face as he kisses him then, teasing his mouth open with his tongue and tracing over his lips before he pulls back, breathless almost. “Might be.”

Zayn’s hands drop to Harry’s waist, as he kisses him again, nothing else in the flat but the sound of their breathing and the soft humming sound Harry makes when Zayn kisses him. Zayn walks backwards, tugging Harry along without disconnecting their lips.

They fall back onto Zayn’s bed a moment later, Harry’s arm caging him in as he holds himself up. “Been thinking about this all week,” Harry whispers, pulling up the hem of Zayn’s shirt.

“Yeah?”

“Been thinking about you all week,” he amends kissing along Zayn’s throat.

Zayn gasps at the hard press of his teeth, turning his head to give Harry more room. “I—me too,” he says. When Harry pulls back confused, Zayn swallows, “I’ve been thinking about you all week too.”

Harry kisses him slowly, uses his hands to hold Zayn’s head still as he does, softly untying Zayn with just his tongue. They’re a mess of lips and tongues after that, competing to taste every inch of each other’s skin, covered in red marks and dragging fingernails, rolling around on Zayn’s sheets. The rest of their clothes come off in a haphazard mess, touching, feeling, through each button and zipper. Zayn gets Harry back on his back just to admire the softness of his body, the hard muscles right there too. It’s breathtaking in a way he never expected. Zayn is halfway to giving him a blow job before Harry manhandles him to his stomach, kissing along the knobs of his back, pressing Zayn down with his body.

“Where’s your lube, love?” Harry sits back and runs his fingertips over Zayn’s back. He feels melted, like a puddle in the middle of the bed, like the only way he’ll be put back together is by Harry’s fingers and lips.

“Nightstand,” Zayn turns his face to look over, “Second drawer. You might not be able to see it since it’s not covered in rhinestones but it’s a blue—“ Harry cuts him off with a swat to his arse and Zayn grins.

“Found it, thank you very much,” Harry says smugly, tossing it over his shoulder along with a condom.

“So proud, babe.” Harry rolls his eyes but leans down to kiss Zayn, still moving his hand over his back.

“Get up for me, yeah?” He nudges at Zayn’s hips, until he pulls up on his knees, feeling wide open and vulnerable under Harry’s hands. “Yeah, like that,” Harry whispers and the reverence in his voice makes the muscles in Zayn’s stomach twitch.

Harry is slow with his fingers, even as he scissors Zayn open with two fingers before he adds a third and teases against his prostate. Zayn bites his lips and sinks down from his flat hands to his elbows, giving himself over to Harry completely.

“That’s good,” Zayn pants a few minutes later when he thinks he might come from one more brush of Harry’s fingers and that’s not how he had planned for this night to go.

“Thank god.” Harry’s voice is broken and Zayn looks over his shoulder to see sweat across his forehead and his pupils blown wide, lips a deep shade of red. It might be the best thing he's ever had the pleasure of seeing. “Thought I was gonna come just from watching you.”

Zayn smiles against his mattress listening to the foil wrapper ripping open. “Why s’that?”

“You like crawl, kind of,” Harry says, grabbing the lube. “Like your legs are trying to push away from me but your body keeps pushing back and your toes curl when I touch you—“ he cuts himself off with a kiss to Zayn’s lips. “You’re something else.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks,” Zayn says for lack of another answer, stomach fluttering.

“It’s a good thing,” Harry says quickly, walking on his knees to get between Zayn’s legs, pulling his hips up again. “Trust me.”

Zayn’s jaw drops open when Harry pushes inside of him, eyes squeezing shut at the stretch. Harry talks him through it, running his fingers over Zayn’s stomach as he keeps going. He starts to move slowly, grinding on Zayn while he holds him around the waist. But when he lays on Zayn and pushes him flat to the mattress, that’s when Zayn’s stomach feels like it’s been caught on fire, held down by Harry’s weight.

“Put your hands up here,” Harry instructs when Zayn goes to reach for his cock. He complies, stretching his arms up above his head. He has to bite into the sheet when Harry laces their fingers together, presses Zayn down further with his hips without letting him touch anything.

“Haz,” Zayn chokes on his name. The pressure of being so restricted with Harry heavy on top of him, his cock seeking friction from his sheets like when he was fifteen and trying to figure some things out. “I’m gonna—“

“No you’re not.” Harry takes away one of his hands to lift Zayn’s hips away from the mattress, his other hand catching Zayn’s wrists together to hold them up.

“Ngh.” It’s the only sound Zayn can make as his eyes roll back in his head, barely getting leverage to move back on Harry.

“You okay?” Harry sounds like his teeth are clenched together, but he asks when Zayn stops making sounds all together.

“I gotta—“ Zayn shakes his head, “Gotta come.”

“Not yet, love.” Harry’s words are right against his ear, “Wait for me.”  
Zayn’s not sure he can wait, as Harry twists his hips and hits the deepest spot in his body over and over, relentless. Dirty words whispered against the shell of his ear, big hands holding his wrists tight. He can feel when Harry’s hips stutter, knows he comes by the choked off sound he muffles against Zayn’s shoulder as he bites his skin.

He feels dangerously hard when Harry lets his arms go, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he squirms around—begging for Harry, for Harry to give him something. Harry flips him onto his back effortlessly, eyes focused on Zayn’s body. He kneels between Zayn’s legs and takes him in his mouth right away, Zayn’s back arching as his toes curl sinfully. Harry’s mouth is tight around him, even with his body flushed from his own orgasm, he doesn’t stop, thumb sliding over Zayn’s tip and driving him straight to the edge again.

“You gonna come now?” Harry asks when he pulls off. His face is shiny and he looks an absolute mess but he manages a smug smile as he presses two fingers back into Zayn. “Want to see you come, love, just like this.” He doesn’t touch Zayn’s cock, just presses his fingers in and out, petting inside of him and stroking his hip. It’s more than enough for Zayn, back bowing off the bed all over again when he comes, biting his lip and holding on to Harry’s biceps—cock untouched.

Harry uses his hand to get him through the aftershocks before crawling up his body and kissing Zayn, soft with an edge of hard as he bites his lip, come pressed between them.

“That was—you’re incredible,” Harry whispers against his cheek and Zayn rolls his eyes.

“No one’s ever made me feel like this,” he says back. And he means no one has ever made him desperate to come or watched him come without touching him—but there’s a part of him that means something else too. Something he doesn’t want to confront right now.

When they clean up, Zayn takes the sheet off the bed and pulls the duvet up over them instead. “You okay?” He whispers when he sees Harry’s green eyes watching him.

“Very okay,” Harry says with a smirk. “Will you—just don’t freak out in the morning, okay?”

Zayn bites his lip and nods, “Promise.”

“Good. Because I want to make you breakfast this time and I can’t if you’re gonna sneak out.”

Zayn slides down until his head meets the pillow, arm falling naturally over Harry’s waist. “Not going to sneak out of my own bed, babe.” Harry doesn’t seem to like that answer, hitting Zayn in the face with his curls as he looks back at him. “Not gonna sneak away from _you_ , babes.”

That must be satisfactory because Harry intertwines his fingers with Zayn’s over his stomach and snuffles into the pillow like he did on their first night. Zayn starts to relax, pressing into Harry and kissing the back of his shoulder softly. It’s been a long time since he’s had someone in his bed, longer since he’s had someone he wants to stay.

*

Zayn wakes up to sunlight on his face, and a cold spot in the bed next to him when he reaches his arm out. He opens his eyes and looks around, reaching for his glasses to confirm his suspicion--his room is empty.

“Haz?” He calls out into the flat. There’s no response and Zayn’s heart sinks with disappointment. He wraps his red blanket around his shoulders as he pads into the main room but Harry’s clothes are already gone, his shoes no longer lined up next to the door.

“Fuck,” Zayn exhales with his forehead resting against the wall. He can’t blame Harry for giving him a taste of his own medicine—running away in the daylight--but it still hurts. He’d gotten his hopes up so ridiculously high and—he has to give it to Harry—he definitely had Zayn fooled.

He feels pathetic when he can’t bring himself to move away from the wall, more so when he yelps as the front door swings open a moment later. The sound makes Harry screech from where he’s backlit in the doorway, nearly drop the bag he’s holding.

“Hi, babes,” Harry says as the door shuts behind him, voice still colored in shock. “You scared me.” His cheeks are flushed from the wind and Zayn watches as he kicks off his boots by the wall, lining them up next to each other again.

Zayn’s lips move but he can’t get words to come out, “Where were you?” is the first thing he manages.

“I went to get breakfast,” Harry says, shaking the bag in his hands. He gets close enough to kiss Zayn, pressing their lips softly together. “Good morning,” he whispers.

“Morning,” he says slowly as Harry moves around him towards the kitchen. He feels dumb now for thinking Harry snuck out—something tells him Harry would still announce himself even if he was planning to sneak out of anywhere. “I—Hey, you said you were going to make me breakfast.”

“I still am,” Harry says, opening and closing Zayn’s cupboards like he belongs. He pulls two plates out of the cupboard and sets them on the kitchen island. “Tea?”

“Sure, yeah,” Zayn says. He pads over to a bar stool and sits down rubbing his eyes. Harry has come in to his life like a goddamn hurricane but Zayn still doesn’t want him to leave. 

Harry puts the kettle on and bites his lip between his teeth while he takes out a cinnamon roll and a croissant from the white paper bag. He cuts each one in half and sets one half on either plate. He hums as he works, moving his hips to some song only he hears while he gets down two mugs and the tea out of the other cupboard. He still has his beaded ‘Z’ bracelet on and when Zayn looks at his own wrist he sees the ‘H’ is still on him too.

“I had bigger plans,” Harry says when the water heats, “But you don’t go to the shops enough so I had to go out in search of a bakery.”

“You realize you told me not to leave and then you were the one gone when I got up?” Zayn hopes his lighthearted tone makes up for the actual fear he felt when he woke up alone.

Harry pauses with the kettle in his hand, steam rising up around him. “I didn’t—did you see my note?”

Zayn shook his head, “Where’d you put it?”

“On my pillow,” Harry says pouring the water. “Hold on.” He sets the kettle back on the stove going into Zayn’s room and coming back with a piece of white paper. Harry hands it to Zayn with a smile, “It's a crossword and, um, all the words are bakery related. So, yeah.”

Zayn lays the paper flat look at the neat boxes and clues written below. “You’re absolutely crazy, you know that, right? I would never have gotten that.” He definitely doesn’t expect the tips of Harry’s ears to go pink as he slides Zayn’s mug across the counter to him, the lightness in his face gone.

“Hey—That’s,” Zayn taps the counter so Harry will look up at him, “It’s cute. I’ve never had someone leave me word searches on my pillow before.”

Harry nods absently, sliding Zayn’s plate over the counter as well but drops his gaze.

Zayn gets up on his knees on his stool so he can lean over the counter, inches away from Harry, “Are you listening to me?”

Harry looks up then, his lips quirking into a smirk, “Yes, I’m listening.” He points at his ears as if to prove a point.

“Good,” Zayn says, reaching up to tuck his fingers in the wispy hairs coming out of Harry’s bun. “That was very sweet and I promise I’ll actually do it next time and figure out your secret code.” He kisses Harry, then, leans closer to press their lips together, storing the humming sound Harry makes somewhere in his mind he won’t forget. “Okay?” He presses another kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips and then his cheek and his nose until Harry laughs loudly and nods.

Satisfied, Zayn sits back down and takes a sip of his tea. This whole not hearing Harry’s thoughts thing is making it much harder for him to be an appropriate human. He usually knows when his sarcasm goes amiss, hears it loud and clear, but not with Harry. He feels like he’s doing something ridiculous like learning to walk except, this time, it’s learning to pick up on human behavior.

Breakfast goes easier after Harry comes and sits down next to Zayn. They start a competition about scooting their chairs in closer to each other until Zayn is all but sitting in Harry’s lap, their arms intertwined as they eat. Harry says he’s only made the crossword once before but his girlfriend, at the time, blew her nose in the napkin he’d done it on—Zayn pinky promises to never do such a thing.

After they eat, Zayn washes the plates and mugs before Harry comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. “Hi,” he says quietly, pressing his face to Zayn’s neck as he dries his hands.

Zayn laughs as he puts a hand up to Harry’s hair, scratching lightly, “Hi, babe.”

Right as he sets the towel down, he turns in Harry’s arms to face him, pressing a kiss to his jaw before he pulls back. Harry is broad and warm against him, his hands holding him easily, nearly all encompassing. He starts laughing, rubbing his thumb over the side of Zayn’s face. “Frosting,” he says when he pulls his finger away and dips it between his lips.

“Oops,” Zayn smirks and kisses Harry’s lips one more time, tracing his tongue inside his mouth and over his teeth. He tastes like tea and pastries, and Zayn can’t get enough, leaning into him fully and running his hands up and down his back. Harry’s eyes drag slowly over Zayn’s face when they pull away, another one of those moments, becoming all too familiar, when Zayn feels frustrated by all he must be missing.

“What are you thinking?” He asks quietly, curious. Harry’s lips are kissed red and he’s got beard burn on his jaw from when he had kissed down Zayn’s neck moments ago.

“Nothing,” Harry says, twisting his lips in a way that Zayn is learning means he just doesn’t want to say.

“Tell me,” he says, putting his hands up under the hem of Harry’s t-shirt and rubbing on the softest part of his hips, “Please.”

“Nothing,” Harry repeats enunciating both syllables clearly. Zayn groans and goes to pull away but Harry tugs him in closer. “Just that I really like you,” he says, almost shy.

“Hey,” Zayn says, pushing down the butterflies that are suddenly fluttering in his chest, “That’s what I was thinking too.”

It’s just about the cheesiest thing he’s ever said and he’s about to scoff at himself before Harry ducks down to kiss him, hard and near bruising and he stops caring about being cheesy. If Harry likes it, he doesn’t mind at all.

*

Harry shows up at the shelter the next Tuesday to make good on his promise of learning how to feed the cats. He’d been texting Zayn all afternoon about how excited he was and when he sneaks up to grab Zayn from behind and kiss his neck, he tries not to yelp too loudly in shock.

Zayn lets him borrow an old jumper from the volunteer closest before they climb into the kitten enclosure. Harry fits right in with the baby cats, meowing with them and rubbing his nose against theirs as he introduces himself. Zayn shakes his head as he gets the bottles ready with warm milk—inside, his heart is busy doing gymnastics at the very sight. It takes a couple of tries to get Harry to hold the kittens and the bottles correctly but he’s a natural when he gets it right, cooing over them and just laughing when one of them spits up all over him.

“I want to take them all home,” he says as soon as they’re out, the kittens climbing over each other to get under the heat lamp Zayn installed for them.

“We’ll put them up for adoption in about a week,” Zayn says, voice leading as he gets the hand sanitizer out for both of them. “I’d put in a good word for you if you wanted me to.”

“Oh, you would, would you?” Harry stands up from sticking his finger through the fence. “Just one good word?”

Zayn considers, “I can probably do two, three max.”

Harry pouts as he turns and walks away, arms crossed over his chest. Zayn’s laughing as he catches up to him, latching on to his back and biting his ear lobe, “Kiss me and I’ll come up with some more.”

He isn’t expecting Harry to turn so fast, catching his lips in a kiss as he holds his face steady, pressing right into Zayn’s mouth and stealing his breath completely. They’re both panting by the time they pull back and Harry tips his head down against Zayn’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Zayn whispers, petting the back of his hair.

“I just made out with you in front of all the baby animals.”

Zayn’s laugh is loud in the space, making a couple of the dogs turn their heads in curiosity. “Better go back to yours then,” he says seriously when he recovers and Harry’s lips twitch as he nods, taking Zayn’s hand and leading him out of the shelter. They pause just long enough for Zayn to turn the lights off and lock up.

*

Back at Harry’s flat, Zayn sits back on the couch and makes Harry strip in the middle of the floor while he takes off his own clothes slowly. It’s entertainment in itself to watch Harry take off his tight black jeans, shaking his hips for leverage and then the way he dances out of his shirt with shimmying shoulders. Zayn admires the view with his lip tucked under his teeth before pulling Harry into his lap when he gets down to just his boxers. His hands press over Harry’s warm pale skin as he sucks a mark right onto his collarbones. He flips them so Harry is on his back and Zayn can explore his chest, tease his nipples in the way that pulls delicious sounds from Harry’s lips. He ghosts his hand over the front of his cock while he bites down particularly hard over one, almost losing it with the full body convulsion it causes for Harry.

“Sensitive,” Zayn whispers, doing it again and grinding his palm down again and again. “Gonna suck you,” he whispers against his stomach as he moves further, pulling off Harry’s briefs to tug his cock twice before he puts him in his mouth.

“I thought I was convincing you,” Harry chokes off with a moan when Zayn hollows his cheeks but he doesn’t give up. “About giving me the cat.” His voice is strained and Zayn presses his fingers under his balls to make it cut off completely, preferring the overwhelmed whimpers to talk about cats.

Zayn pulls off after a minute more, watching Harry’s hips grind up against nothing, hands clutched against the couch. He takes another second to watch the way his muscles jump in his stomach before he licks around his tip again. “You can hold my head, love,” he says right before he sucks him down again.

Harry is quick to comply, hands threading through Zayn’s hair and holding with the slightest of pressure as he works his hips up again, and again. Zayn runs his fingernails up his inner thighs as he relaxes his throat, groaning to match Harry when he comes, hot down his throat and squirming on the couch when Zayn traces his tongue back up. He sits back on his knees to look at Harry, his bun ruined and cheeks flushed, pupils blown out.

“Come up here,” he says. Zayn goes to crawl over him, surprised when Harry pulls his hips up all the way until he’s sitting on his chest. “Want you to fuck my mouth,” he says simply, pushing his hands over the planes of Zayn’s stomach.

Zayn tries not to lose his balance as he takes off his boxers, tossing them over the back of the couch and sitting back down. Harry guides him with his hands on his arse but Zayn’s eyes focus on tracing Harry’s lips with his cock, so pretty pink against the flushed skin of his dick, glossy with precome. He smears some along his mouth before he presses in, eyes fluttering as he does. Zayn pushes Harry’s hair back from his forehead, holding his hips from thrusting into the wet warmth of Harry’s mouth. “You good, babe?”

He touches Zayn’s thigh as he nods, moaning around his mouthful. Zayn’s hips twist forward slowly at first before Harry pinches his thigh and he gets the message.

“You’re taking me so good love, look so pretty like this.” It takes nearly all of his control to keep from coming two minutes into it, Harry’s fluttering throat making his words come out raspy. “Just like that, baby.”

He feels the familiar burning in his stomach, the heat focusing to one central point as he thrusts, rhythm going sloppy with the way Harry’s eyes roll back and he moans, like his dick is the one down a throat. He presses Zayn’s hips flush against his mouth then and Zayn comes with a choked off whimper, Harry’s pink lips stretched around him. Zayn pulls back, some of his come smearing on Harry’s lips and he presses it inside with his finger. He traces his lips again and again with his fingertip before scooting around to kiss Harry instead, tasting himself there and pressing some of Harry back against his tongue.

“So can I have the cat?” Harry asks with a raspy voice, hand running aimlessly up and down Zayn’s back. He can’t give an answer, just laughs against Harry’s neck and holds onto his warmth.

*

Zayn debates texting Harry the next night to invite him over but he’s not sure if he’s being clingy. He’s, quite honestly, never met someone he wants to cling to so badly. He types out four different texts before he throws his phone under the couch and raids his fridge instead. He drops the string cheese he’s holding when he hears the muffled message notification coming from under the couch and he makes a dive for it.

He grins like the idiot he is when it’s Harry asking if he wants to watch something on Netflix. Half an hour later Zayn is over at Harry’s, curled up on his couch under a fluffy throw with the computer set up on the coffee table.

“I was going to text you,” Zayn says pressing in closer to Harry as a Planet Earth documentary starts. “But I didn’t want to be annoying.”

Harry presses his lips to Zayn’s hair when he speaks, “Let’s just assume whenever you want to text me that I want you to, and whenever you call me I’ll always answer.”

“I can do that,” Zayn says, biting his lip at the very idea of whatever it is they’re building together.

*

Niall, Liam and Louis take to Harry right away even if Louis plays a one-sided twenty questions with him the first night they meet at a pub like he’s Zayn’s dad rather than his best friend.

“What are you doing?” Zayn hisses when Harry goes with Niall for another round of pints. “You’re going to scare him.”

“Someone has to ask the tough questions,” Louis says with a shrug.

“You forget that I already know you like him.” Zayn points at Louis’ head, laughing into his arm when Louis covers his head and groans.

Niall and Liam like him if their thoughts are anything to go off of, though by the time they leave for the night Zayn is fighting off a migraine from every other voice that wormed it’s way into his mind while they were there. Every other voice except the one he wants to hear most.

“What are you thinking?” Zayn asks as he holds Harry’s hand on the walk back to his flat, pressed close together to stay warm.

Harry’s breath comes out in a cloudy puff. “I like your friends,” he says as his eyebrows pull together. “And I can tell how much they care about you and want you to be happy. So, I hope you didn’t think I was trying too hard with them—I can’t remember a time when I wanted other guys to like me this much.”

Zayn laughs, wishes he could show Harry the rundown of commentary from his best mates to ease his mind. “They love you,” he says instead. “I can read them each like a book so I would know.”

*

Harry works at O’Malley’s a most every day of the week but always makes time to see Zayn after his shifts, even the one’s where he’s too tired to do much more than fall asleep like an overgrown puppy. Zayn knows he needs the money, pays his rent on his own, but he wishes Harry could take time off to catch up on sleep and his courses. Zayn doesn’t want him to fall behind nor does he want to be the reason for it, stealing Harry’s free time from him.

“You help me,” Harry tells him when Zayn brings it up, completely nonchalant. “Seeing you is the best part of my day sometimes.”

“Even the days you fall asleep and drool on me?”

“Especially those days,” Harry laughs and seals his words with a kiss against Zayn’s lips, and then down his neck and under his clothes by the time he’s satisfied.

Zayn shows up to the senior center each Friday night to take Harry out for pie, sneaking in for the end of craft class each time. He likes watching Harry supervise the construction of popsicle stick jewelry boxes and key chain making--the one time he taught iPhone photography was a particular favorite. Plus, has a standing date with Muriel to discuss important things like how he should still bring Harry flowers or who she wants to vote for in the upcoming election. They day he does actually remember to bring flowers, Harry gives them to Muriel instead and she tears up, smudging bright pink lipstick on both of their cheeks. Mostly, Zayn likes to be in a room full of people who love Harry. There is something to be said for listening in on thoughts that echo his; even if the specifics are different the sentiment is the same. There’s a part of him, a selfish part albeit, that wants to know what Harry says about him and most of the ladies at the front table seem to know. He can’t ever hear what Harry has said to them exactly but he gets the general idea and it makes him grin like a loon by the time Harry finishes the class and makes his way over to him.

Harry blends seamlessly into Zayn’s life, into all of the spaces he never knew he wanted filled. He brings him tea in the mornings and lets him sleep late on Saturdays. Zayn collects the weird cross words Harry makes him and meets his sister Gemma when she comes to visit one weekend. They go to art museums and concerts, fall in love with animals and listen to people older than their grandparents tell them stories. Harry gets invited to lads' nights with Zayn’s friends and impresses them all with the way he can juggle and sets Niall up on a date with a girl from his Psych class. Zayn meets Harry’s best friends Nick and Jeff when they come up to visit from London and by the time they leave he feels like he’s spent all weekend trying to date both of them too--just to get them to like him. Harry laughs against his neck when he tells him, says that’s how he felt around Louis only one hundred times worse. Harry brings Zayn jewelry that Muriel makes them and Zayn spends two hours covering a new bottle of lube in pink rhinestones when Harry’s old bottle runs empty. Harry laughs so hard when he gets it he starts crying, pulling Zayn against him and refusing to let go. It’s everything Zayn thought he couldn’t have—everything he thought wasn’t meant for him.

“You know what I like?” Harry says one night. His eyes are heavy with alcohol but he’s focused on Zayn.

“You like that thing I do with my tongue, for one,” Zayn says adjusting the blankets around them.

They’d gone to a club with Liam and Louis getting drunk off Jell-O shots that were too sweet and margaritas with the guarantee of a hangover attached. Zayn didn’t mind it though, getting to be with Harry, pressed close together in a sea of people. The music rolled through them, loud enough Zayn couldn’t hear anyone’s thoughts at all. He loved it, though, rocking their hips together and kissing the sweat from each other’s necks. Now, they’re tucked into Harry’s bed, naked from the second they walked in the door and thoroughly exhausted by the time they fell between the sheets.

“That's true. But, more that you always ask me what I’m thinking,” Harry says sleepily.

Zayn runs his finger over Harry’s forehead, smiling, “Of course I do. I always want to know.”

“S’nice,” Harry says, smiling to match Zayn. “A lot of people don’t always take the time to care what people have to say—what I have to say.”

That makes something hard poke at Zayn’s heart and he shakes his head, “I’ll always care,” he says, kissing Harry’s forehead.

It hits him slowly, as days turn into weeks, the way he realizes it’s true. Even if everyone else were silent, even if Harry was the rule instead of the exception, Zayn would be ever curious. He loves the way Harry talks, slow and meticulous, the way his humor is dry and sarcastic in the same ways as his own. He loves that sometimes, in a room full of people, when he thinks he’s the only one laughing at something, he’ll turn to find Harry giggling too.

There are still times when Zayn wonders if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. If one day he’ll wake up next to Harry to be able to hear him and what that would mean. Harry’s caught him once or twice, mostly in the middle of the night, when Zayn wakes up and watches Harry sleep. It’s the times his thoughts start running away from him, when he wonders if there’s a switch that will suddenly flip on, worries about keeping such a big part of himself as a secret from Harry. It’s not something he was planning to tell him, ever, but the more Harry lets him in, the more Zayn feels like he’s holding something back.

Harry has told him about growing up with a single mum and how they struggled to make ends meet most of the time. The way he was made fun of as a kid because of the way he talks and tells stories. He told him about how he wants open a boutique of odds and ends one day and, now that he’s met Zayn, he thinks he wants to sell kittens out of the back as a side gig. There’s the stuff he doesn’t say that Zayn catches on to as the weeks go on too. Like, how Harry drinks most things with a straw and usually waits for someone else to take the first bite of a meal. He calls his mum and sister at least once a day and he picks up trash that other people let fall out of the bin.

He watches American football and once snuck out of Zayn’s bed to queue up a Packers game in the very middle of the night. The smile on Harry’s face when Zayn came out of his room to watch with him is still etched on the very inside of Zayn’s head. He ordered Harry a Packers hoodie when they’d been together for two months and Harry ran in his room to get the green beanie he’d already bought for Zayn. If anything, Zayn was impressed that he had convinced Harry he actually liked watching a game he barely understood.

Harry likes to hold hands, even if they’re at a pub full of people he’ll reach for Zayn under the table, run his thumb over his knuckles as he tells a story. He kisses his forehead just because and walks him home at night even if he’s not staying over. It scares Zayn sometimes, how much he likes Harry. How much he feels like he’s holding onto someone who could slip through his fingers at any moment.

“Would it matter, though?” Louis asked during one of Zayn’s conspiracy theories about a switch waiting to be flipped with Harry’s mind. “If you woke up tomorrow and heard everything Harry has ever wanted to say to you but kept in his mind, would it matter?”

Zayn had bit his lip because the answer terrified him, the fact that he was very well on his way into falling in love with Harry Styles.

On some of the nights when Zayn lies awake looking at Harry, wondering if the other shoe will drop, if there even is another shoe to drop, Harry will blink awake, almost like he can feel his gaze. A little smile will pull on his lips when he meets Zayn’s eyes as he tugs him in closer, pulls Zayn against his chest. He has no idea the turmoil rolling rampant through Zayn’s mind and as two months turn into three, Zayn can’t help but feel like he’s the one keeping malicious secrets.

*

“What do you want to do tonight, Haz?” Zayn asks one night as he finishes the dishes. They have a good pattern of switching off with cooking and doing dishes. Harry’s meals are always more elaborate and make more of a mess but Zayn doesn’t complain because he’s also an incredible cook.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, sitting up on the counter and fiddling with his rings. “We can just do something quiet, if you want.”

“You’re choosing,” Zayn says. He turns off the sink and dries his hands on his jeans. “Lou said they’re going to Haze tonight, I can suck you off in a toilet again.” He smirks at the thought of their last weekend when neither one of them could remember how they’d ended up with Harry on his knees and security pounding on the stall door. “Or I’m sure there’s a show we can go to or, you know, other things.”

Harry smirks, probably at the same memory, “Or we can go to that look out point at the park, I’ll even drive us. Or we can go to the diner and get pie, it shouldn’t be too busy.” He claps his hands together, “Or we can just stay in, that’s fine. Just, like, a quiet night in.”

He always talks slow but his last sentence drags on and Zayn is automatically suspicious. “Are you tired?” He tilts his head.

“No, I drank coffee in my last class today, I’m buzzed.”

“Why don’t you want to go out, then?” Zayn walks to stand between Harry’s legs, running his fingertips over his thighs.

“Oh, I do. I mean, we can. I’ll go,” Harry puts his hands over Zayn’s. “Or we can do something quiet. I just thought—“ his voice trails off and he purses his lips.

“What? What did you think?” Zayn reaches to where Harry’s shirt splits and touches the birds on his collarbones, tracing the inked outlines.

“It’s nothing, or, not a big thing at least. I just know you sometimes get headaches if we go to places with a lot of people and I don’t mind quiet things.” Harry shrugs and Zayn’s forehead falls forward against his chest. “Is that bad?” He grabs Zayn’s face with both hands tipping his head back.

Zayn shakes his head, the best he can with Harry’s grip. “Not bad, no. I didn’t know you noticed that.”

Harry smiles big and bright, “I notice all sorts of things about you, babes.” He continues on, unprompted, “Like, you don’t eat enough vegetables and you like your socks to match, you talk to the animals at the shelter when you think I’m not listening and sometimes you turn towards people right before they talk to you, like you know they’re about to say something.”

Zayn’s breath gets caught at that but Harry must take it as a gasp of curiousity.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, “You do that a lot. And you don’t sleep enough, your hands run cold and you always make sure the covers are tucked up under my chin when we sleep like you’re afraid I’m going freeze, and you keep all of the crossword puzzles I make in the bottom of your bedside table.”

Zayn’s lips quirk, “How do you know that?”

“Last night when I was desperately searching for a condom, I might have gone through some things,” Harry shrugs.

“I told you, if you would have untied my hands, I could have helped.” Zayn turns his face to kiss the inside of Harry’s wrist at that anyway, the thought of Harry tying his wrists together with his headband still sending a coil of heat through his stomach.

“Would have ruined the fun,” Harry says, brushing his thumb under Zayn’s eye gently. “Anyway, I also know you like when it’s just the two of us. And I like that too. I just like being with you,” he shrugs. “We don’t have to go out for me to do that, we don’t have to do anything but sit right here on this counter.” He wiggles his hips and Zayn laughs.

Laughing is better than fighting the bubble of emotion at everything’s Harry noticed, at the unrelenting sensation that he owes Harry a bigger explanation than a headache.

They’re still in the middle of deciding what to do when Louis calls with an urgent invitation to an Ed Sheeran show. Invitation is a loose interpretation of the demanding tone he takes. He even has Zayn put him on speaker so he can invite Harry along too.

“Told you he likes you,” Zayn tells him once they hang up and start getting ready to go—which means Harry charging his phone and Zayn putting his contact lenses in.

“Yeah? You think so?” Harry wiggles his eyebrows like there’s some sort of implication under Louis’ invite.

“Not as much as I like you but, yeah,” Zayn says because maybe he’s a little jealous and maybe he’s jumped headfirst into being completely hooked on Harry.

Zayn doesn’t mind the noise of the concert as they make their ways to the balcony where Liam and Louis are with Niall, just focuses on where Harry’s hand is holding his. And once the show actually starts, he doesn’t have a chance to be overwhelmed by the things no one is saying, the music sending a different smooth hum through his entire body. He focuses on the way Harry sings every lyric and the way his hips knock against Zayn’s during his interpretation of dancing. And when the softer songs come on, he focuses on the way Harry’s arms look wrapped around the waist and how his broad chest is a safe landing place when Zayn leans back against him. By the time they leave, Harry can’t stop talking about the performance and Zayn can’t stop staring at him with love drunk eyes—with a side of tipsy eyes from vodka sodas, but still.

“ _Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars,_ ” Harry croons as they walk through the door to his flat, giggling as he tries to get through the next line, “ _Place your head on my beating heart.”_

“That’s romantic,” Zayn says as he kicks the door shut with the bottom of his foot. “Just laugh all the way through.”

“So, _baby now,”_ Harry yells the lyrics out and jumps up on the couch, “ _take me into your loving arms_.” He takes on a Shakespearean voice when he sings, “ _Thinking out loud, maybe we found love right where we are.”_

Zayn can’t help but burst out laughing when Harry goes to do a spin and steps right off the couch instead. “Be still my heart,” he says reaching out to steady him, “You’re really something, aren’t you?”

“Something?” Harry’s voice goes high. “Something? I am a romantic connoisseur.”

“A cheese ball.”

“Your cheese ball,” Harry smirks, grabbing Zayn’s hands in his and pulling him right against his chest and dropping his hands to his lower back.

“My cheese ball,” Zayn concedes with a whisper. He kisses Harry, slowly and softly as they press together from shoulders to toes, Zayn’s foot hooking around Harry’s ankle.

“Dance with me,” Harry says after a moment, kissing Zayn one last time. “Please.”

“There’s no music,” Zayn says even as he humors Harry and twines his arms up around his neck.

“Would you like me to sing again?” Harry asks opening his mouth wide like he’s about to sing opera.

“No,” Zayn says but right up to Harry’s lips as they smile against each other.

“Dancing in silence it is,” his voice is quieter now.

Zayn rolls his eyes and grabs his phone out of his back pocket. He double clicks the center button and hits play so Sam Smith comes through the speakers, sounding tinny when he tosses the phone back against the couch. They rock back and forth slowly, not to any beat specifically, just looking at each other, eyes roaming over each other’s faces. Zayn’s hit again and again and again in that moment that he can’t hear Harry and probably never will. Everything he’s ever wanted is there in his arms and he’s suddenly never felt so scared.

“Hey Zayn?”

Zayn tries to pull his mind away from the sudden chill in his blood, fear of letting go bolting straight for his heart. “Yeah?” He clears his throat when the word comes out scratchy.

“I want to tell you something, okay?”

Zayn nods, not trusting his voice. He absently wonders if that sudden clap of fear was some sort of premonition for whatever Harry has to say next.

Harry’s eyes drop down between them before he meets Zayn’s gaze again, his hands spread wide against Zayn’s back. “I’ve never really felt this way,” he says, holding Zayn’s gaze like he’s daring him to look away. “So I don’t know how it goes or what I’m supposed to say but I’m—“ he blows out a stream of air between his lips and shakes his head, “I’m falling for you. Fell for you, maybe sunk straight into the ground over you, really.”

The words wash over Zayn slowly, in a way that feels like his mind is recording them—planning to play them back to him later. The words, the kind of feeling, he’s been waiting his entire life for, leaves him speechless. He doesn’t want Harry to take his silence for fear, though there is some of that lurking there too, so he kisses him instead. Taking his hands from his neck to hold his face steady, pressing his tongue inside his mouth to try to say all the things he wants, all the things he’s never said before. Harry sighs into his mouth, the soft curves of his body molding right to Zayn’s—dancing long forgotten in favor of kissing. Zayn moves his lips to Harry’s neck, tasting his sweet skin, salty from the concert and dragging his teeth in a steady line.

“Bed,” Harry whispers when Zayn tugs on the skin under his ear lobe, leaving a mark that will stay. Zayn nods against his lips without disconnecting their mouths, letting Harry start walking backwards. He knocks into the couch and tries to catch himself against Zayn with a yelp.

“How about I lead tonight,” Zayn says over their laughter, turning around and tugging Harry right to his room. He gets up on the bed on his knees and Harry is quick to follow, mirroring him and holding Zayn’s head between his hands as he kisses him.

Zayn starts right in on Harry’s shirt, following his fingers with his lips. “Have I ever told you how nice it is to only have to undo two buttons your shirts, love?” Zayn kisses along his jaw as he pushes it back off his shoulders, pressing his lips right against Harry’s dimple as soon as it deepens in his cheek.

“Anything to help.” His voice is broken as Zayn licks over his nipples, tugging on them with his thumb and forefinger just for the next raspy breath from Harry’s lips.

“Can you--,” Zayn’s words are muffled by Harry tugging his shirt over his head. “Want you to ride me, yeah?” He gets the words out right as Harry’s ducking to kiss his neck, smiling when Harry groans against his skin.

Harry pushes Zayn’s shoulders so he falls back against the bed and he can straddle his hips, kissing down his neck and across his chest. He tongues right along the top of Zayn’s jeans as he undoes the snaps and pulls them down his legs, kicks them off the bed. Zayn scrambles to grab the sheets when Harry spreads his legs and kisses up the insides of his thighs, his toes pointing with each drag of his teeth. He wiggles his legs to get his boxers off and to get Harry’s face somewhere closer to his dick rather than teasing up his thighs. Harry gets the point right away, licking up Zayn’s length and sliding his tongue over his head and back down the other side. Harry starts pulling his hair up in a messy bun without looking when he hollows his cheeks and goes down as far as he can.

As per most things with Harry, Zayn can’t help the fluttering in his stomach as he watches him try to get his hair into the hair tie from his wrist. Zayn sits up to help him, sliding the tie off for him and making a mess of Harry’s hair as he tries to put it in the rubber band with shaking hands. “You’re too good,” Zayn rasps, Harry’s head going up and down in his lap, “Can’t focus on doing your hair right now.”

Harry laughs around Zayn’s cock, pulling off right as Zayn finishes with a haphazard bun. His lips pinker than usual and slick with spit as he grins sloppily. Zayn drags two fingers over his lips, feeling the heat there.

“Get your pants off,” he says taking his fingers back.

Harry wastes no time, getting off the bed again and pushing his pants down followed by his boxers before climbing right back into Zayn’s lap, one knee going on either side of his hips. Zayn grabs for the condoms and lube on the side table, holding Harry close against him with a arm curved along his waist.

Along with Harry’s sounds Zayn wants to play again, his humming and the way he talks, are the broken whines that fall from Harry’s lips as he opens him up. Most of them are muffled against Zayn’s neck but by the time he’s pressing three fingers up against Harry’s prostate, his head is dropped back, moans echoing loudly around the room. Zayn kisses his neck when he pulls his hand back to wipe against the duvet, feeling the intense thrum of his pulse under his tongue.

“You okay?” Zayn double checks, while he rips the foil packet of the condom and rolls it on.

Harry looks at him, eyes so wide with want and a little ruined with something else, lips redder than they were the first night when they were out in the cold, “So, so good.”

When Harry sinks down on him their lips brush, foreheads press right together. He can feel Harry’s broken breaths against his lips and the way his thighs shake as he starts to move over him. Zayn has one hand on the softness of his hips, the other twisted in the back of his hair, their eyes not leaving each other.

“Zayn, babe.” Harry's eyes flutter as the words slip out before he bites his lip with nothing else to say.

Zayn's only response is to kiss Harry then, pressing on the back of his head so their lips collide and holding him there as he moves his hips with his own hands, bouncing Harry in his lap. It’s hot breath and slick sweat there in the middle of Harry’s bed as they slide against each other and hold on so tight Zayn knows they will share fingertip shaped bruises tomorrow.

“Close,” Harry whispers as he holds him even tighter, like he never wants to let him go.

Zayn doesn’t want him to either. And that, in and of itself, sends emotion right up into his throat stealing his words completely. He kisses all along Harry’s jaw and up his cheeks, holding his cock in his hand and tugging him tight and fast as he kisses his eyelids, every part of him he can reach. Harry’s orgasm leaves him shaking, every muscle moving as he keeps his hips moving, clenching around Zayn. He comes a moment later, gasping right into Harry’s hair and trying to catch his breath against his skin.

“Love you,” Harry whispers, right there against Zayn’s neck. He only feels the exhale of the words but he almost feels like they’ve inked themselves there, like Harry’s love might just leave a lasting mark.

That’s what he thinks about when they lay down between Harry’s sheets, legs twisted together so their bellies and chests touch, heartbeats thudding right against each other through skin and bones. He thinks about the permanence he feels when he looks at Harry, the way being with him feels like something he can’t live without—how absolutely terrifying a feeling like that suddenly is. Zayn has never needed someone before, never needed a hand to hold—he’s just always wanted it. Now that he has it, he’s not sure he’ll be able to let go, survive it if he’s not the one who lets go first. The thoughts cascade one on top of each other--how can he expect Harry to keep holding on if he has a secret that will always keep them at arms length despite appearances. There's something like bile worming up his throat.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Harry whispers against his chest, followed by a kiss, soft and sweet.

Zayn smirks against his curls, rubs a hand down his back--Harry’s got no idea.

*

The dark feeling lingers in the morning when Zayn wakes up. The slow panic building in the pit of his stomach and rising right up behind his lungs. He focuses on breathing, matching the steady rhythm of Harry’s breathing where he is pressed against him, but it doesn’t work, he feels like he’s going to crawl right out of his skin. Swallowing heavily, he decides he needs more space, needs to take a lap or something. He snakes his way out of Harry’s arms, lips pulling into something like a smile with the way Harry curls in towards the empty space like he’s chasing Zayn's warmth.

Zayn pulls his clothes on quickly, realizing as it’s happening that he’s not getting space, he’s leaving. His shirt is the last to go, ruffling his hair as he pulls it on. His stomach rolls as he pulls up the sheets around Harry, just like he always does, but he doesn't do anything to stop himself. Right before he turns to leave he presses a kiss to Harry's temple and drags his lips as he pulls away ignoring every alarm bell going off in his head in favor of the slowly releasing pressure in his chest. He navigates out of the bedroom, over some clothes and a pile of books in the hallway. He doesn't even have the decency to leave a crossword.

He feels dirty by the time he gets out the front door, latching it quietly behind himself. Halfway down the street, the alarms stop going off in his head replaced with a dull ache in his heart. He tries not to think about it. As he unlocks his front door his phone vibrates with two texts, one right after the other. _You left?_ And then, _everything okay, babe? xx_

Zayn lets himself in as he tries to figure out what to say, how to explain what he’s starting to think might be the unexplainable. _All good. Just need some...time._

It sounds terrible. As soon as he sends it, Zayn winces at his words, tossing his phone onto his couch and going to start the kettle. It’s not until the kettle has boiled he realizes he didn’t hear anyone on the walk home, his thoughts too preoccupied by Harry.

“What am I doing?” His voice is loud in the quiet of his apartment and he lets his forehead fall against the cool counter. That’s one question he doesn’t have an answer for.

He spends the rest of the day fielding all communication from under the covers of his bed, which is to say, ignoring calls and messages like the plague. He reads the ones Harry sends late in the afternoon, heart dropping over each message, particularly the last two.

_Is this about what I said?_

_Even if it is, I don’t take it back._

He shakes his head and buries his face in the pillow as he works himself deeper into the mess he’s made.

_Not at all, babe. Just need to sort through some things. xxx._

He turns his phone off after that, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep the afternoon away rather than face the reality of what he’s doing.

*

A day turns into two and then three, and four—ignored calls mounting up as Zayn hides away in his house refusing to talk to anyone outside of his four silent walls. He goes to classes and straight home, calls out sick from his shifts at the shelter.

Harry comes by his flat on the third day, Saturday, knocking three times on his front door. Zayn gets off the couch but only looks through the peephole. Harry has his hair pulled back, and his eyes look dull as he shifts around. Zayn wonders if he knows how close he is, if he realizes Zayn is watching him and the way the confusion twists around him like a vine, stealing the color from his cheeks and his lips.

He puts his hand flat against the door when Harry turns to leave, pretends he can’t see the way Harry bites his lip and hangs his head. Walks away from Zayn’s door like he had honestly expected him to answer. Then again, he probably did. Harry has been the one who tells him anything and, justifiably, expects the same from the one person he’s given everything he’s got. Zayn sinks to the floor, presses his forehead against his knees as he tries to control his breathing. His phone lights up a moment later, _Please just tell me if you’re okay. I’m worried. Please._

And maybe he’s an asshole or maybe he’s not okay at all but Zayn lets the phone fall from his hand, more willing to stare at the wall than stare down the truth—whatever that may be at this point.  

*

It’s been five days since Zayn has gone ghost on his own life and settled on his couch to watch a dog documentary with his phone safely stowed under a couch cushion. So, perhaps, it's fitting for Harry to pound down his door in the middle of the afternoon. His fist manages to shake the doorframe as he hits the wood paneling and though he has the power to flip Zayn over in bed, it's hard for him to picture Harry's gentle hands against his door now.

“Let me in,” he yells followed quickly with, “You’re being a massive prick right now--” and that’s _definitely_ not Harry.

The pounding gets added to with some kicking and more profanities, leaving no question who is at the door. Zayn manages to finally drags himself off the couch to let Louis in.

“I was legitimately about to climb through the window,” Louis says with an eye roll as he sweeps past, beanie tugged on over his hair.

“Come on in,” Zayn mumbles as he shuts the door, locking it just in case anyone else comes after him.

Louis kicks off his shoes by the wall, a mess stark against the way Harry always lines his up. “Good to see you’re alive, Zed. Fuck you, by the way, for playing dead for five days. If it wasn’t for Niall telling us you were going to classes, I would have looked into a forensic investigation much sooner.”

Zayn scoffs and goes back to his spot on the couch—pulling a blanket up over him. It's the last one in his apartment that still smells like Harry. No one needs to tell him he's being a pathetic asshole--he full well knows. “If you’re here to talk about him—“ he starts but Louis cuts him off.

“I just came to see you. Is that a crime?” He sets his backpack down and gets a bottle of water from the fridge.

Zayn doesn’t see himself physically removing Louis from his flat anytime soon, so he lets him stay—invited by way of Zayn scooting to make room for him on the couch. Louis curls up on the opposite end, tells Zayn to push play on the dog documentary he’s watching. He doesn’t ask why Zayn is watching a documentary on dogs and that only scares Zayn more.

“I saw him, you know.”

Zayn hums noncommittally, adjusting the pillow under his side.

“Let me rephrase. I came out of my complex a few hours ago to find Harry Styles sitting on the curb. It's borderline freezing outside, Zed. But there he was, waiting with his little pink cheeks and red nose." Zayn’s jaw tightens at the very idea, he hates to think of Harry like that and Louis knows it. “It turns out he couldn’t remember which flat was mine and was satisfying himself by waiting for me to show up. God help him if I’d gone to Donny for a visit.”

“Get to the point, Lou.” Louis is purposely leading his thoughts and his words in a circle because he knows that Zayn will try to skip ahead in the story before he gets it out of his mouth. It’s time likes these Zayn wishes he never would have told him that he can read minds.

“Right, that.” Louis nods. “He was wondering, in the very polite, quiet way Harry tends to do, if you were in my flat. I told him you weren’t and the way his face fell,” Louis shakes his head, “I barely know the kid at this point and I’m about sock you in the face, Zayn.”

Zayn’s head lolls back against the couch. He knows the feeling. “And then what? You just sent him on his way.”

“No, we went to get a cup of coffee because I felt like I owed him something. Like, we're not dating and he waited in the cold for me to come home. I don't even want to know what kind of candle light vigil he's been holding for you especially after you haven't talked to him all weekend." Louis stops talking and though he didn't pose a question he's looking at Zayn like he's demanding an answer.

Zayn pulls his head back up to look over at him, “Five. Five days. Did he tell you I left him in his bed? That I snuck out while he was asleep?” He yelps when Louis smacks him in the back of his head.

“No, he clearly has more class than to drag your dirty laundry out. But, please share, what did you tell him that’s made him stick around for five bloody days then? If Liam stopped talking to me for five days, I’d tell him to fuck off and we’d never speak again.”

“That’s not true and you know it. You would break in through a spare window on day one.” Zayn smiles for the first time since he last went to sleep in Harry’s arms.

Louis smirks, “Okay, maybe. But that’s beside the point. Harry’s far too sweet to break your windows. So, give it up. What’d you tell him? What’s your grand excuse for making me feel protective of a twenty-one year old grown-ass man?”

Zayn’s smile, whatever version of it is on his face, melts into something a little more stiff. “I just said that I needed some time.”

“Time?” Louis raises his eyebrows, “Time for what? To become a corpse of a human?”

“To figure out what to do, Louis.” Zayn’s voice is harsher than he expected but he needs Louis to understand. “I can’t imagine a life without him—I don’t want to—but I have no idea how to keep him if I tell him what I can do. I've only ever told you about it and I've never even considered doing it again. At the same time, how is keeping it a secret fair to him?”

Louis stares at him through hard eyes, shaking his head. “You do have to tell him, you realize. You have to try,” he says. “The thing you hate more than anything is lying yet here you are freezing Harry out with a shit reason and a secret to boot. Don’t do that to him. I know you like him more than you tell me and the boys."

Zayn closes his eyes, “What if I lose him, Lou? That's all I could think about before I left his flat. Like, how do I say I can read minds except for his, which, in some loony fairy tale, actually means he's my soul mate? How do I lay that out there and expect him to not run like hell?"

"Because he deserves the truth, Z. Because when you care about someone, you have to respect them enough to be honest with them." Louis shakes his head, "Damn, that was quite poetic, innit? I should take my own advice."

Zayn rolls his eyes. "I don't want to lose him."

"And sitting in your house for five bloody days is a good way to prove that." Louis turns to Zayn fully, "This is what you've waited for. That mysterious person to align all the planets and stars and shit--that's Harry. You've been waiting for Harry and you will not piss this away because you're suddenly a pussy."

Zayn sighs and it should tell him everything he needs to know that he doesn't try to hit Louis. "Lou, do you have any idea how fucking scary it is to get everything you want? To find out it’s better than you dreamed it would be? To be so scared of losing it that your hands shake?” He holds his hands up for emphasis.

“No, you fucker. Of course I don’t. Because most people never get lucky enough to know what they want and then actually get it. If you have that, if Harry is that, and you don’t fight for him,” Louis’ voice cuts off and he shakes his head.

Zayn doesn’t even need to read minds to hear him loud and clear.

*

He wishes he had a viable excuse or reason why two more days have passed and he hasn't talked to Harry--especially when Louis comes over to his place and knocks his door down again.

“Zayn. He’s not going to wait for you. Fuck, I’m not going to wait around to watch you either,” he says, not even coming in the door fully. “You need to either let him off the hook or take care of this and tell him the truth. He’s hurting, Zayn. _You’re_ hurting him.” Louis turns to leave, corners of his lips turned down, “This one is all on you, mate.”

He lets himself out, his thoughts echoing his words as the door shuts behind him. Zayn inhales and it’s shaky, rattling around in his chest before he can finally catch his breath. Now that he’s pushed Harry to an invisible edge, he wonders if he really should let him go. If he deserves better--If Zayn doesn’t deserve him at all. The thought make his stomach clench.

A knock at the door, two total, makes him look up. It’s a nice change that Louis isn’t trying to break the door off his hinges this time. Knowing him, he's coming back to make sure Zayn is okay. That’s the thing about Louis, he drags his friends back to their rightful place, even when it hurts, but he always comes back around to make sure they didn't break.

He takes another deep breath as he grasps the door knob. If nothing else, Louis will see that he’s not a broken mess on the floor which—at the point—seems like a damn good way to spend the rest of the night. Pulling the door open to see Harry—definitely not Louis—gives that breath in his lungs no where to go, choking it’s way back up through a slight wheeze.

“Harry.” Zayn can’t quite believe he’s standing right there. Standing there in a flamingo print shirt, buttoned halfway up his stomach with his hand holding his hair back from his face and cheeks red from the wind. His green eyes so wide and almost innocent as the relief at the door opening quickly turns to something darker.

“This isn’t fair.” Harry says, breaking the silence between them. “It’s not fair for you to keep leaving me, running away without telling me what’s going on. It’s not—don’t do this.” He’s not begging but his voice is broken. Like he’s right on the verge of giving up, like he’s barely hanging on.

Zayn can’t put words in a sentence so he just takes a step back, invites Harry in. Harry exhales as he crosses the threshold like maybe he was holding his breath just like Zayn.

“Can I take my shoes off?”

It’s taken three months for Zayn to realize that it’s Harry’s way of asking if he can stay—taking his shoes off. The very offer means he’s willing to stay at all and Zayn grasps it.

“Yeah, of course.” He’s useless as Harry takes off his boots, lines them up next to the wall. “Do you want tea?”

“Please,” Harry says without looking up, focusing on adjusting his socks.

Zayn is thankful for something to do, setting the kettle on the stove, searching around for some sort of snack to offer along with it, settling for cutting apples just to keep moving. Harry, for his part, is a little smoother, sitting down on the barstool and tracing lines in the granite. Once the tea and apples are served, Zayn has sufficiently ran out of ways to keep his hands busy and he stops in the middle of the kitchen.

“Harry—“ he says at the same time as Harry opens his mouth too.

“Go ahead,” Harry nods towards Zayn.

“I just want to apologize. I know I owe you more than that but that’s what I have. I’m sorry for leaving and for locking you out. You don’t deserve that from me.”

Harry sighs and studies the granite for a moment. Zayn doesn't think he's going to speak until he looks up. “You just left without saying anything and I didn’t know... I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d fallen for you—“ he shakes his head and swallows, “Whatever it is that made you leave, I’ll always want you to be okay. To be happy. Even if you don't want to be together, um, I want you to still be happy.” The last few words seem like glass shards against Harry's lips, like he's choking on them. “That being said,” he runs his hands back through his hair before dropping them both in his lap, “Will you tell me why you left? I just want to understand—I need you to help me understand.”

It's Zayn's turn to study the counter top. To let it settle that Harry assumed he was breaking up with him by way of sneaking out of his bed. He comes to sit next to Harry, then, scoots his barstool up close like they always do in the mornings, until he can turn and their knees intertwine. He needs that right now, he needs to feel Harry, strong and solid, next to him so he doesn’t fall apart with what he’s about to do.

“How about,” Zayn looks down and then back up, meets Harry’s green, green, eyes, “we start with the fact that I owe you the truth. There are some things I haven't been completely honest about." Harry nods slowly, eyebrows pulling together. "Maybe I should start with the fact that you make me unbelievably happy and being with you has been some of the greatest times of my life and that doesn't change with what I'm going to say, okay?"

Harry nods, putting his hand on Zayn’s knee like he needs that physical reassurance just as much. He rubs his thumb over the top of Zayn's thigh, waiting for him to speak.

“I was scared,” Zayn says on an exhale. As soon as the words are out he wants to laugh. They sound ridiculous considering what is at stake. “Not of you,” he says quickly, “But of the way I felt. I’ve never felt like that. I’ve never had a reason to feel the way I feel around you—never known someone like you.”

Harry looks like he’s trying to understand, his eyes wide but eyebrows pulling together. “Okay.”

“I realized that I don’t want to lose you,” Zayn smiles, lips turning up at the corners, trying to be as clear as possible, “The idea of losing someone I care so about this much—I’ve never had that. I’ve never had someone to fight for or someone who the very idea of losing them makes my stomach hurt. Makes my heart hurt.”

Harry still looks confused, still looks like Zayn isn’t being clear.

“I’m in love with you,” Zayn clarifies, flat out, hoping that gets his point across.

“That’s good,” Harry’s voice is slower than usual, “And you know how I feel about you, right?” It’s Zayn turn to look confused as he nods. “Um, so was I doing something to make you think that I was leaving? To make you scared?”

Zayn’s lips twitch, “No. That was—that was all me.”

Harry licks his lip and leans in, leans in close enough that their noses are inches apart, eyes meeting with nowhere else to go. “Okay because I’m not going anywhere. I don’t want to lose you either, you know. I’m—I’m absolutely crazy about you. Like, don’t sleep for five nights because I need to know that you’re okay and I need to know what you’re thinking. Like, briefly considered camping outside your door to make you talk to me. I am gone for you Zayn Malik.” He smiles, dimple poking in, “I’m so gone for you, love and that shit was a one way ticket. There’s no going back now.”

The analogy gets a giggle out of Zayn, one quick burst followed by full laughter as his forehead presses against Harry’s, hands finding Harry’s on his knee and holding on tight. He lifts his head to kiss Harry’s forehead and stills himself—the worst may be yet to come.

Zayn pulls back and squeezes Harry’s hand as the smile fades and the nerves take over again. Harry’s face mirrors his, linking his socked feet around Zayn’s ankles. “I need to tell you why I left the first time, okay?”

Harry’s lip is worried under his teeth and Zayn reaches up to push it down, free it. He smoothes his thumb over it once before going back to holding Harry’s hand. He watches his face--full well knowing it might be the last time he gets the chance, if Harry makes a mad dash of it when the next few minutes are over.

“And I told you the second part first so maybe you won’t think I’m making this next part up. Because, believe me, I know how completely and utterly insane it’s going to sound. Maybe, um, maybe just promise me you’ll have an open mind?” Zayn snorts at that but shakes his head and pulls his face back to serious.

“I can—yeah. Will you please just tell me?” Harry’s eyes blink slowly, waiting. “You’re the one scaring me now, Zayn.”

Zayn takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “So, there’s really no short way around this other than to say that I can read minds. There are details and circumstances that I won’t bore you with right now other than to say, in a room full of people I hear everything said with their lips and the things they don’t want anyone else to know.” Silence pulses around them and Zayn bites his lip. He's sure Harry needs a moment to process but as seconds turn into full minutes Zayn wonders about having sent him into shock. “Can you—can you just say something? What are you thinking?”

Harry raises an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips, “Did you not just say you could read minds.”

Zayn closes his eyes and tries to keep his composure, held tight between laughing and shaking Harry by his shoulders. “This is serious, Haz.”

“Very. If you were reading my thoughts right now, you’d see how serious I’m being.” He leans forward to kiss the corner of Zayn’s lips, maybe sensing what this moment means to Zayn and sitting back. “I’ll be serious on my face now too,” he says with an encouraging, but small, smile.

“The bottom line is I can hear thoughts, right? And when there are too many people all at once, it makes my head go buzzy.”

“Headache,” Harry offers.

“It kind of translates like that, yeah.” Zayn swallows, “The night I met you, my head was...buzzy. I was drinking and we were in the pub, which makes it hard to hear individual thoughts. Um, and then you know what happened after that. With the, you know, pie.” Harry grins and, _shit,_ Zayn is too far gone over him. “In the morning though, I looked at you and there was—there was nothing. It was completely silent.”

“You couldn’t hear me?”

Zayn shakes his head, “It’s happened once or twice. Just briefly, like--never for more than a few minutes. There’s one thing that I can always hear and that’s pain.”

“Hey,” Harry whines, lips twitching, “You pinched me that morning.”

Zayn’s cheeks turn pink--that whole morning still feels like a bad dream. “I was panicking a little. It didn’t work, though, pinching you. I still couldn’t hear you. And that’s never happened to me before. I’m not proud of running but it’s the only thing I could think to do.”

Harry is focusing on him so fully, so openly and it’s everything Zayn could ask for given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I don’t think I ever apologized for that morning but—I am.”

“So, what happened?” Harry runs his thumb over his knuckles, “When did you first hear me? When I came in the shelter with Lucy? My mind was thrashing around then, I bet it was that night—“

“No.” Zayn cuts him off. “Never. I still—I can’t hear you Haz. Not a single thing.”

Harry’s mouth opens and closes once or twice. “You can’t hear me. At all?”

“Nothing. That’s why I always ask you what you’re thinking. I’m not used to wondering.”

Harry flexes his jaw. “Maybe I’ll stop telling you. Let you wonder every once in a while.” The use of the future tense sends warmth straight through Zayn’s body, he wills himself to stay cool. “Is there—are you the only one? Who can do this I mean?”

“My mum can and two of her sisters but that’s all we know of.”

“And can they,” he rolls his lip under his teeth, “Can they hear everyone?”

“No,” Zayn whispers, clears his throat to make his voice louder. “They all have one person they can’t hear—their husbands.”

Harry nods, once and then twice. “The person who makes the world go silent. The person that, when they look at them, they’re the only thing they see.”

“That person, yeah.” Zayn’s voice is quiet.

“Am I—Am I your person?”

Zayn wonders how far to go, how much to say. “I used to believe it, I believed that when I looked at someone and couldn’t hear what they had to say, that would be it—game over. When I met you, I was intrigued by the idea that I couldn’t hear you—that something about you calmed me down and let my mind relax. And I wondered, sometimes, when I would wake up in the middle of the night, what would happen, what I would do, if I woke up the next morning and I could hear everything in your head. What that would mean.”

Harry’s thumb pauses its trail along Zayn’s knuckles, tongue licking over his bottom lip.

“And I realized, just about a week ago, as I woke up next to you, that I wouldn’t care if it all changed. That I didn’t fall for you because I can’t hear you but for everything else there is about you. Your nightlight and diamond encrusted lube, your big heart and dirty mouth. The way your eyes get red when you're tired or when you're sad. The dimples in your cheeks." He shakes his head and looks up, “It’s a one way ticket and there’s no looking back, babe.”

Harry smirks and when Zayn finally meets his eyes he grins big and wide--all teeth and pink lips, two dimples, eyes sparkling. “Can I kiss you now?” He asks, already leaning forward when Zayn remembers to nod.

It’s hard and soft all at once, the kiss. It’s understanding and a week a part, it’s a _thank you for telling me_ and a _thank you for understanding_. Zayn pushes closer, right into Harry’s lap so his legs go around his waist and Harry holds onto him with both hands. His tongue is warm in Zayn’s mouth, better than he remembers as he puts his hands up in Harry’s hair, holds his head as he kisses him and presses so fully against him. It’s everything he’s always wanted, and then some, right there in his arms and against his lips.

Zayn pulls back slowly, dragging lips and soft kisses as he sits up on Harry’s lap, fingers curling in and out of Harry’s hair.

“Hi.” Harry says, thumbs digging right into Zayn’s back.

“Hi, love.” Zayn kisses him again because he can.

"I have a question." Harry smirks when Zayn starts laughing at him, "Okay, maybe like three thousand questions but just one right now."

"Ask away, darling." Zayn's lip twitch as he waits for Harry to speak. Now that he knows Harry won't bolt, he doesn't think he'll mind trying to answer three thousand question. 

“Why is it—“ Harry purses his lips, thinking, “What is it about not hearing someone’s thoughts that was s important to you? I know the story, or whatever, is that you can't hear your person but, like, why did you hold out for it? Why not just say fuck it, I want to know exactly what my boyfriend has to say?”

Zayn bites his lip and goes for it, “I wanted to get to know someone by the things they told me. I didn’t want to spoil their stories by jumping to the end before they said it out loud. I wanted someone to be a mystery only I could solve--I wanted to ask someone what their favorite movie is and not have the answer laid out right in front of me.”

Harry is quiet, hands running up over Zayn’s back and then down to settle again. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“What?” Zayn’s head tilts just slightly.

“Ask me what my favorite movie is, then.”

Zayn swallows, his eyes feeling suddenly heavy with something he won’t identify, throat tight, “What’s your favorite movie, babe?”

Harry bites his lip. “Thanks for asking,” his voice is soft, “At the moment, I'm really into the Bond moves but my favorite movie since I was a kid is Love Actually.”

Zayn swallows the sudden emotion pressing up out of him to cover with a smile and a groan, “Of course it is.”

Harry pouts, “Watch me never tell you anything again.”

“No, don’t do that,” Zayn presses their foreheads together, “Always want to know what your thinking. Always.”

“Okay,” Harry says kissing his lips slowly, humming against him.

“I'm happy I didn't just say fuck it, by the way,” Zayn whispers as he hugs himself to closer to Harry, kissing his lips and eyelids and nose everywhere he can reach with the promise of never letting him go. "Glad I waited for you."

*

It's only a couple of months later when Zayn adopts a deaf, overweight cat who gets dropped off at the shelter in a carrying case without a note or ID chip. Zayn holds him for five minutes before he decides to name him Oliver and take him home. Darlene gives him all of the supplies for free as a thank you for his dedication to the shelter.

He doesn’t tell Harry about Oliver, though--not until he comes over to his flat from the senior center that night. He sees the cat as soon as he comes in the doorway and he drops to the ground in excitement without even taking his shoes off first. He lays flat on his stomach and picks up the nearest cat toy, waving it around.

“Babes,” he says when Oliver doesn’t glance over at him from his perch on the couch. “Your cat—there’s a chance he’s broken.”

Zayn’s lips twitch, “He can’t hear you.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, sitting back on his haunches with a pink feather clutched in his hand. “You got a deaf cat.” It’s not a question.

“I got bored of being the only one who can’t hear you,” Zayn shrugs even though there are plenty of other reasons he brought Oliver home.

Harry shakes his head as he crawls around to the other side of the couch so Oliver will see him coming. Zayn pulls his sweater sleeves down over his hands while Harry starts introducing himself to the deaf cat. He’s definitely trying to teach him sign language.

Zayn walks over to stand behind Harry, wrapping an arm across his chest so his head tilts back. “You didn’t even say hi to me,” Zayn pouts, leaning forward. “Gonna think you’re using me for my cat.”

Harry rolls his eyes, reaching for Zayn’s head and pulling him down to kiss him upside down. “As if. I use you for that thing you do with the tongue and the party tricks.”

He just starts laughing when Zayn scoffs and turns away to finish making dinner.

Harry doesn’t always ask to know but, sometimes, when he’s drunk he likes to know what other people are thinking, what they’re not saying. Zayn indulges him those nights, whispering the things only he can hear. The secrets and the snide comments everyone is holding on to. Sometimes, people will think about Harry in ways that should only belong to Zayn and he thinks Harry likes those night best, when Zayn climbs in his lap or attaches himself to his neck—makes everyone shut up about his boyfriend. Mostly, Zayn is thankful to have someone to share it all with. Someone who understands why he likes it to be just the two of them sometimes, who doesn’t mind if Zayn puts his headphones in while they walk to class. Someone who sees nothing wrong with who he is.

Zayn still gets frustrated when Harry won’t tell him things, valid things like when he’s upset and stupid things like when he’s planning a surprise. But, most of the time, Harry is a wide-open book, telling Zayn whatever he’s thinking—even the weird things he gets embarrassed saying or the things he knows will start a fight. Harry gets mad when Zayn keeps too much inside or when he tries to run away—he gives him space when he does but he never lets him get too far. Zayn is thankful for that too.

Oliver's first night, Harry locks him out of Zayn’s room while they mess up the sheets of his bed and drag fingernails down each other’s back, lick sweat from skin as they hold each other tight. They use Zayn’s flavored lube covered in blue rhinestones—a bottle that mysteriously showed up in his drawer a few weeks ago, according to Harry. Harry’s the first to let Oliver in afterwards, though, picking him up and cradling him against his bare chest as he brings him to the bed.

“You get come on my cat, I’ll kill you,” Zayn says as Harry lays back down and Zayn can wipe the stickiness from his stomach.

“You’re lucky he’s deaf,” Harry says, pressing his nose into Oliver’s fur, “talking about such vulgar things in front of my baby.” Oliver definitely belongs to Zayn, not Harry, but he doesn’t correct him. Instead, he kisses Harry’s jaw and Oliver’s head, settling around Harry’s back with his face pressed to his neck.

Zayn didn’t think it was real, finding the person that would make his world quiet, who he could look at and finally hear nothing. He thought it was a dumb fairy tale for kids who think magic is real. But there, with Harry in his arms and his deaf cat purring down by their feet, Zayn thinks he might just believe in that kind of magic.

 

**Author's Note:**

> :) [Tumblr ](http://daisyharry.tumblr.com)


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